Stories that Go Nowhere
by Magi Silverwolf
Summary: I have a plethora of ideas that hit me and force me to work on them. Since Loredian keeps giving me plot bunnies, I needed a place to put them. This collection may get updated from time to time, but it is always considered to be complete as is. In the unlikely event that I expand a story out to a story in its own right, I will remove it from here. Each chapter is a different idea.
1. The Trial of Albus Dumbledore

**Disclaimer** : I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and slash or other people.

 **Warning** : This collection may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers. It contains few to no plot spoilers for the Harry Potter series, excepting those that have already been declared in public forums. This story contains the death of major characters.

-= LP =-

The Trial of Albus Dumbledore

-= LP =-

Chapter One: A Train to Nowhere

-= LP =-

"Severus…"

Blue eyes watched the form of the potion-maker. For the first time, Albus was struck by the fact that this man was the reason that that so many first years had to go to Madam Pomfrey for Calming Draughts after a class with him. Albus no longer saw the scrawny eleven-years-old that sat sorrowfully on the stool to be sorted, but the formidable master of the dungeons. For a moment, Albus worried that Severus would not grant him his last request.

"Severus…please…"

Finally, the hand holding the wand rose. The words were spoken-Albus hoped that he was the only one who heard the regret in them. It would have been a shame for all his plotting to come to naught over the tone that Severus had used while killing him. He felt what little strength he had left abandon him. There was the strangest sense of weightlessness before the world faded to black.

There was also the odd tickling feeling that Albus had learned to associate with the feeling that he was forgetting something, though what he could hardly guess.

He did, however, wish he had had time for one last lemon drop.

-= LP =-

It was white. That was the first thing about the afterlife that Albus noticed. It was a blinding white that would have made Poppy Pomfrey proud. After his eyes adjusted to the single color, he noted that he was not in front of some pearly gates like the Muggles all said was the entry to Heaven nor was he immersed in white flames.

It was a train station-King's Cross, if he wasn't mistaken. The only major difference was its vast emptiness. The King's Cross that he was familiar with was never empty. There was always someone about their business, no matter how late the hour. Now there was not even a custodian pushing a broom, just row after unending row of benches.

"HELLO!" he bellowed, hoping for an answer, but not really expecting one.

"Hello, Albus. It's been a long time."

Albus stiffened at the voice behind him. There was no need to turn around to know who was speaking. That voice could only ever belong to one person and for all his talk of heading fearlessly into death, at this moment, he was terrified of turning around and facing her. Yet at the same time that was the only thing he wanted to do. Her name rose to his lips like a desperate prayer, but he could not bring himself to utter it. He didn't deserve to speak it. He didn't deserve to see her again either. Yet he found himself turning to look at her.

Merlin, she still looked like she did that day. Wild blond curls danced around her pixie face. Blue eyes still twinkled with the true merriment of childhood. Rose red lips pouted in mock petulance. She even wore the same purple sundress that she had been wearing that fateful day. Albus felt his heart clench in his chest.

"Well, aren't you going to say hello, Albus?"

"Ariana."

The name escaped him with the softness of a sigh. That was the name of his greatest tragedy, his greatest failure. The owner of that name was now standing in front of him, a gentle smile on her lips, whole in death as she had not been in life. She let loose a giggle, perhaps at the look on his face.

"Who else would I be, you silly goose? Now, are you ready? The train is waiting."

"What train—" A loud whistle interrupted him. He turned to see a bright red engine on the track with only two passenger cars attached. "How…?"

Ariana's only reply was another giggle. She sprinted pass him and ran into the train. She turned back at the stairs. Her hand raised and waved at him. Then she disappeared into the train.

His heart clenched. She was gone, gone again after so short a visit. As if to confirm his thought that he was losing Ariana all over again, the train whistle blew again. Steam poured out from the stack of the engine. Slowly, the train began to inch forward, then jump. Before he could stop to think, his feet were speeding toward the train.

He had to stretch to reach the handle as the train picked up speed. His fingertips brushed the smooth bar. He stumbled slightly due to his running and a brush was all he caught. Determined, he tried for just a little more speed. He reached again. The jerk almost pulled his arm out of socket, but he held on and managed to swing himself into the stairwell of the train.

He rested on the steps, panting for breath. As his breathing slowed it occurred to him that maybe he wasn't dead. After all, he had felt pain-physical pain-and he certainly seemed to be breathing, though it was labored at the moment. He could feel his heart pounding his chest. His right hand was still a black withered thing. Isn't death supposed to free a soul from such torments?

"You're wondering if you are really dead," whispered a quiet voice above him. The way she stated it, there was no question, just a simple statement of fact. He looked at her towering above him on the top step. Her clothing was little more than rags. Her black hair hung lankly against the sides of her face. One look into her dark eyes and Albus knew who this strange waif was.

"Merope?"

"You are, you know," she went on without answering. "Death doesn't release us. It doesn't! I thought death stop the pain of losing Tom. I did. But it never ends. Do you hear me?" Her eyes went wild. For the first time her voice raised above the hushed whisper. It was a frantic roar when next she spoke. "WE ARE NEVER FREE! NEVER!" She burst out in tears. "We don't deserve to be, do we?"

She turned on her heel and sprinted down the train. By the time Albus had ascended the few steps to the top, she was nowhere to be seen. Albus began to walk in the direction she had disappeared in, thinking that maybe he'd be able to comfort her or inquire after Ariana. Silence lingered, with only the slight shushing sound of the train as it rushed down the track heading toward an unknown destination.

Albus wandered the length of the train. He checked all the compartments he came across, but so far all of them had been empty. There was no sign of Merope or Ariana. In fact, there was no sign that there was anyone at all on the train.

Dejected, he settled into the last compartment in the caboose to watch the white landscape go by and wait. What he was waiting for, he had no idea. Maybe it was time to just accept the adventure.

Although, he would like to have some lemon drops.

Maybe just a few?

-= LP =-

He jerked himself awake. Albus wouldn't have thought that he would have been capable of sleeping, but apparently, death was too exhausting not to require a rest. Especially after hours of watching the same bland landscape roll by outside his window. The fall of the land was similar to the path that the Hogwarts Express took from King's Cross to Hogsmeade every year except for one key difference: the colors.

Where the 'real' scenery was full of color—reds and oranges in the fall; greens and bright rainbows in the spring—this was more like the winter scenery without the excuse of snow. Pure white teamed up with inky black to form the tapestry outside his window. It was like a picture drawn with charcoal on pristine parchment. In all other ways, he might as well be outside Hogsmeade Station.

"Albus?" A male voice called from the distance. His body jerked towards the door. He didn't realize he had risen until his back popped several times. "Albus, where are you?" The voice sounded farther away. He yanked the door open. He rushed down the train as fast as his old body could take him. When he arrived at the place where he had gotten onto the train, Albus spotted him.

It was as if time had not reached him. His gold hair still fell in that roguish fashion that he had worn when Albus and he had first met. Those blue eyes still danced as if he was cooking up a plot. When he spotted Albus, he let out a belly laugh and beckoned. He also began to back into the dark shadows of the station. His scarlet robes were so bright against the white and black background. It drew Albus off the train.

The closer he got to Gellert, the younger he felt. A spring came back to his step. It didn't seem to matter that fifty-two years had passed since Albus had seen him last. It didn't matter that they had fought, that Gellert had spat in his face and vowed to hate Albus for the rest of his days. He was eighteen again and in love. The pain from his arm faded away. Happiness swelled in his chest until he thought he would explode from the pressure. Just a few more feet and they would be reunited again, two against the world. This really must be Heaven.

"Albus?"

Her voice sounded confused, lost. It was so much like it was during the fight that his heart froze. Albus' blue eyes met Gellert's in desperation. The blond man beckoned again, this time with impatience. He was almost completely swallowed by the inky shadows of station. The red robes seemed to glow like an ember. Gellert smiled and Albus recognized it as the one that he used just for him. Albus took another step towards his lover.

"Albus?" Her voice choked, as if on blood. Albus went rigid. A part of him railed against the unfairness of it all. Two steps and he would be within arm reach of all he ever wanted. But she was behind him, hurt. Albus knew it just as he knew the twelve uses for dragon's blood. So recently he had found her again. He was so close to the answers he had once desired just as much as Gellert's love. His eyes drifted close. The urge to scream welled up inside him.

He was wrong. This wasn't Heaven. It was Hell.

"Albus," Ariana whispered in her sweet, child-like voice, "don't leave me." He opened his eyes and looked at her. She had tears running down her face. Her small hands were clasped tightly together in front of her heart. The white light of this place danced off her blond curls. Her purple sundress flapped in a nonexistent breeze. Even though she should have been in a shadow, there was only light around her. She reached a hand out towards him. Her eyes pleaded with him. "Please?"

He was caught there, half in the shadows that held Gellert and half in the light. The conflicting desires tore at him, ripping out pieces of his soul. He heard Gellert laugh again as Ariana choked back a sob. He brought a hand up with the intent of scrubbing his face with it. It froze in front of his face. Instead of his hand being whole and unblemished like it felt, it was shriveled, blackened, and skeletal, far worse than it had been at the end of his life. He lifted his other hand. It was wrinkled and pale. There were a few liver spots and one jagged cut that he had gotten last week when he had dropped a glass and had tried picking up the pieces himself. It was so small that he hadn't bothered Poppy with it.

"Albus," a voice hissed. He looked at Gellert in his ruddy robes, tucked back into the shadows. Was his smile just a little too predatorily? Something was different about him. As Albus watched, Gellert's pupils contacted into narrow vertical slits. "Come on, Albus," he urged, just a hint of command in his tone. "Come on, love." He reached out for Albus.

Albus scrambled backwards into the light. Gellert hissed. His face twisted into the expression that haunted Albus' dreams, full of anger and hate. This wasn't the man that Albus loved. This was the monster that killed and enslaved to get his way. This was Grindelwald.

Albus fell to his knees in the full sun, all strength gone. He watched as Grindelwald paced the shadows edge, all the while, snarling at Albus. Tears leaked down Albus' face. After a while, he felt Ariana's hand press against his cheek. He raised his eyes to hers.

"Come on, let's get going. We still have a ways to go."

She took his hand as she led the way out of Hogsmeade Station. Just before they left the platform, he looked back one last time. Gellert's blue eyes were filled with tears as he watched him leave. Somehow Albus forced his feet to keep moving, but he couldn't drag his eyes away.

A pair of dark eyes watched as well. Her small hands tore at her lifeless hair as rage reached a boiling point in her little body. The train whistle covered her scream of outrage. As the train began to move, so did she. Maybe this time she would find Tom.


	2. Home

Note to Self: The theme of this story is the Song Roulette Game. (Put your library on Random and write each chapter or scene to the songs that come up.) The pairing of this story is Lunar Harmony. It is set after _Where the Lightning Struck_.

-= [_P =-

Home by Three Days Grace

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Luna Lovegood exited the Knight Buss, her trunk thunking behind her. The Rookery stood in front of her. The setting sun had turned its pale stone an orangey crimson. It was sort of, she mused, the color of the Weasleys' hair. The Knight Bus started moving again, once more disappearing. The resulting breeze moved a hunk of her fine white hair. With swift hands, she grabbed the wayward strand and examined it. Her hair was bathed in the same light.

' _I've been hanging out with Ron too much,'_ the Ravenclaw thought. _'I am beginning to look like him.'_

The thought worried her for a moment before it occurred to her that looking like him was better than eating like him. She grinned and waved her hand around her head to chase off the whackspruts that were obviously buzzing around her. Her grin didn't cease as she began walking down the path that led to the Rookery's front gate. Her trunk left small furrows in the crushed cacao shells that made up the path. The scent of chocolate filled the air, making Luna's mouth water. She paused at the front gate to tap the gatepost three times. That made sure that the whackspruts could not follow her into the perimeter of the grounds.

The front garden needed taming again. That was normal for coming home from school. Her father, Xenophilius Lovegood, was not much of a gardener or brewer. Everything having to do with the grounds was her responsibility. Luckily, she had befriended a brownie shortly after her mother's death. Thus she was not doing it alone. But the small fairy could only do so much. It was the same as the magic she would cast when she came home for Eostara. Getting the gardens back in shape would allow her some distraction while she waited for her O.W.L. results.

Luna loved her father. The two of them were all that were left of the Lovegood family. Luna also had no doubts that Xenophilius loved her as well. However, since her grandmother had passed away during Luna's fourth year, things had been strained. Luna knew she bore the blame for some of that. Secrets were not good for any relationship and since the second Blood War had started, the fair Ravenclaw had accumulated her share. The Quibbler had begun to take off in the last year since Harry's interview. That meant that her father was spending more time at the new premises he had bought with the proceeds of selling said interview.

Luna pulled out her key and unlocked the front door of the Rookery. It opened with a squeaking creak. She added that to her list of things to do in the upcoming weeks. Perhaps she'd find enough to do that she would not give into the temptation of trying to seduce Ron again.

Their physical relationship had been fun, but it was not the fiery whirlwind that her grandmother had described to her during their talk. That didn't stop the fission from being addicting or their activities from being educational. Luna shook her head to clear away the effects of whackspruts. Even after deciding to end their intimate time, Luna was still thinking about the ginger newt quite a bit.

Maybe she should add baking a batch to her list?

Luna's laughter echoed in the empty house, a bright promise in the growing darkness that was the magical home. From pictures, Dione smiled distantly. Luna's fingers briefly touched the dust-covered glass, pressing the kiss they had taken from her lips.

-= [_P =-

Hermione Granger felt oddly empty as her parents' car pulled into the gated community that contained the Granger home. Coming back after ending a war was…odd. She knew from her psychology books that traumatic experiences can change one's perspective, but wouldn't returning home help alleviate some of that? All her wounds were healed. All the evidence had been erased—why did she feel like a square peg being pushed into a round hole? Her thoughts poppled over each other before she managed to still them into obedience once more.

She looked up just in time to catch her father looking at her in the review mirror. Hermione mustered the energy to give him a small smile, but she knew that the effort did not have the intended effect when he frowned in return. Her hand rose to press against her lapel. The fabric pressed against the deep scar that remained of the curse she took at the Department of Mysteries. The itchy feeling that resulted reminded her that she had survived, not only that curse but the last year since then. She had been luckier than her attackers each time.

So much had happened this past year. It had started slow. Harry had been very diligent about writing his letters on time, even if they had been empty of anything meaningful. When he had arrived at the Burrow, he had looked so desolate that the very memory still hurt her heart. He still had not lost the dark circles beneath his eyes or the stretched-skin look to his face by the time they had returned to Hogwarts.

"Hermione?"

Hermione came back to herself with a start. Her mother was turned around in the front seat. The expression on her face was concern. It didn't cause Hermione to immediately feel scared, as it would have done even at Easter break. Hermione's feeling of disassociation grew with that knowledge. It was all just…wrong, so ill-fitting.

"Harriet, dear, how about you take Hermione's trunk inside?" Her father made the suggestion in a firm tone. Her mother immediately looked as if she was going to protest. Hermione knew why, and she _understood_ as well. If her child was acting as she was, she would be concerned as well. Daniel Granger merely gave a shake of his head. This had the effect of immediately silencing Hermione's mother. With one last concerned glance, she unloaded the trunk from the boot and began the process of taking it inside the three story house.

"How are you? And don't use the word 'fine'," he asked once her mother was out of sight. Hermione closed her mouth against that very response. She tried to meet his eyes in the mirror again, intent on lying. He refused to play the game by keeping his face on the center of the steering wheel. His face was so neutral that Hermione could not gain any insight into his frame of mine. Without knowing exactly what he was looking for, she was left with no option except to tell the truth.

"I feel…broken…I should be happy—we won. Why wouldn't I be?—but I feel…" Words failed to describe the situation and Hermione flailed about for them before landing on her thoughts from earlier. "I feel like I don't fit anymore. I close my eyes and all I see are flashes of blood and death. I open them and see my home. This was me." She gestured towards the home in which she had grown. "If I'm not that, Daddy, then who am I?"

"I can't answer that for you, Eling," her father said after a long moment of silence. The use of her childhood nickname brought more warmth to her than she could possibly admit. "I was barely older than you are now when I went to Borneo. I'm not saying that it is exactly the same, but I do know that nothing can prepare you for it…and it hurts the soul to see it. I know how the images stick in the mind. There's only one thing that I can say that may make any difference to you right now." For the first time, he actually turned around to face her. Her face felt frozen from the effort it took to keep from crying at the sight of his hazel eyes darkened with sadness. "You will always be my own E, Hermione. Even if you fight a thousand wars, nothing will ever change that fact."

Like a glacier that had gotten too warm, she broke and there was a flood of tears. He opened his arms and pulled her into the front seat. The steering wheel made the embrace awkward, but they managed. She was safe here. She was home.

-= [_P =-

Harry Potter stumbled as he crossed the threshold of Number Four, Privet Drive. His trunk, which he had been carrying, skidded forward through the front entry way. His cousin's laughter gave Harry all the information that he needed in order to surmise what had happened. Thankfully, he hadn't fallen. Harry suspected that his cousin would not have been able to resist the temptation to kick him while he was on the ground.

Then a thought occurred to him and he looked anxiously at the trunk. He sagged in relief when he saw that the charms sealing it shut had held. Harry had sealed it completely before leaving Hogwarts. He had also been researching wards since the start of the school year to protect it, and its contents, from everything he could imagine and a few things that Hermione had suggested when he had asked. Anyone else might have scoffed and called his minor obsession paranoid—in fact, Ron _had_ at one point—but not Hermione. The brainy girl had simply helped him to protect his belongings.

Ever since Dumbledore had told the Dursleys about the fact that Harry would be coming of age as of his seventeenth birthday and proceeded to scold them for their method of taking care of him, Harry had a nagging fear that refused to be soothed. Harry's aunt and uncle were always concerned with what others thought of them, particularly where Harry was concerned. They also disliked anyone telling them that they had done something wrong. It made them angry, and they had a habit of taking out their anger on Harry. Harry could deal with them attacking him, but his trunk held all of his worldly possessions, some of which were irreplaceable.

Harry silently put his trunk into the cupboard that had been his room for his childhood at Aunt Petunia's sharp gesture towards it. Six times they had done this routine. Harry didn't need to be told the rules any more. There would be no opening his trunk anyway, not until he had come of age and could do magic. If no one could open it or destroy it, then it was safe.

The same paranoia that had led to the warding of his trunk was the reason that Hedwig had been sent with Hermione for the duration of his stay with the Dursleys. Her survival had already been chancy since he had gotten her. The summer after first year had almost ended her through starvation. Having felt the pangs of hunger himself, it had physically hurt him to see his beloved girl in the same position. Every year, the threats had gotten worse, with the exception of last year when she was grudgingly allowed her freedom under penalty of direness from certain members of the Order.

Harry only had to last the month until his birthday. After that, he was gone. It would be the best birthday ever. He had already arranged his final escape with Hermione. She would come on his birthday with her father—and she was insistent that it would be her father for some reason. He would stay with her family while he sorted things or, as she was also insisting, until school started on September first.

His heart felt warm at how insistent Hermione had been. She had been his first of quite a few things. Ron may have been his first friend through the happenstance of sharing a compartment, but Hermione had been the first person to lie _for_ him. She had been the first person to push him to be the best that he could. She had been the first to notice that things weren't completely, well, _right_ with him. Instead of forcing him to talk, she had simply adapted. She had been the first person to give him a hug.

Truth be told, Harry felt jealous of the fact that she wanted Ron. He tried to comfort himself with the cold knowledge that it hadn't been a choice of one over the other—it had never been a _competition_. Still, Ron had his rather public affair with Lavender Brown, and then a secret one with someone outside of Gryffindor. All the while, the best girl at Hogwarts was working herself into a right mess over the thick git. Ron always seemed to have exactly what Harry wanted. It wasn't fair, but it seemed to be the tune of Harry's life.

"Get to work, boy," Aunt Petunia snapped, bringing Harry back from the past. "I want the front beds weeded before dinner or you'll have none of it."

' _Welcome home, Harry,'_ he thought as he complied. It was only a month. Then he would be rescued again. This time was for good. He would make sure of it. Then he would make his own home. He may even find some nice girl to help him. It would be hard finding someone who could measure up to Hermione Granger, but he had defeated a Dark Lord. He could do anything.


	3. When Harry Met Emmy

-= LP =-

When Harry Met Emmy

-= LP =-

They met by accident.

Harriet Watson had been carrying far too many books in her arms as she crossed campus on that fateful day midway through her first Hilary term at Somerville College. Her book bag was already full, leaving no room for said books, which were mostly texts for her classes. Sleep-deprived and coursing on too much caffeine, Harriet was already being to reconsider trying to take two undergraduate courses at once, no matter what her uncle had suggested about just getting it all over with as quickly as possible. At this rate, she would be more than willing to bugger off being a doctor and become something entirely boring, like a _dentist_.

A gust of wind came up unexpectedly-after all, the quad was almost completely by buildings, so where _did_ a strong wind come _from_? It tugged not only her rather mousy hair from its makeshift bun, but also her college scarf that was draped across her shoulders. Thankfully, the scarlet fabric was half trapped by the stack of books held tightly against her chest, so Harriet didn't have to chase the thing. Unfortunately, in trying to juggle the books one-handed to flip the fallen end back around her neck, she ended up dropping several off the top.

"Bollocks," she snapped, not caring what her aunt would say about language becoming of a lady. The eighteen-year-old knelt to rescue the texts from the slushy mixture that hadn't quite been removed from the sidewalk since the last time it had snowed.

Emmy Granger was at this point walking backwards explaining some philosophic point her latest study group. She was gesturing wildly as she did so, not caring about the errant breeze that was tossing her brilliantly blond curls into her cobalt eyes heavily lined with black. It was something that she often did. Emmy hated not looking facing to whom she was speaking, even if that person was someone that she had only known for a couple of minutes. Thus, the blonde was not looking where she was going exactly.

Emmy collided heavily with Harriet causing the younger girl to yelp in pain and drop her books once more. The blonde would have tumbled to the ground in an undignified heap had it not been for a lifetime of gymnastics that allowed her to instinctive turn the fall into a handspring. Unfortunately, underneath the slush that covered the ground was a thin sheet of ice from the previous night's freezing temperature. What should have been a solid landing turned into much too much force and forward flew her feet-right into Harriet's books. Into the brunette's face jumped a particularly heavy-looking medical text even as Emmy landed hard upon a bottom that did not have a lot of extra cushion.

The resulting thud was loud in the little group. Most of whom could not help but wince.

"Oh, skelp me," Emmy announced as she scrambled to her knees to examine the other girl who was not holding her nose and blinking rapidly enough that Emmy just knew was an attempt not to give way to tears. "I'm sorry-It's my fault. I was blethering on like a right eejit, nae watchin' where I was going. Lemme look, sweets," Emmy commanded as she pried Harriet's hand away from her rapidly bruising face. "Aye, but that's a guid pair of keekers you be sportin'. I don't think your neb's mair than bruised, tho'. Best have a med grad check, just in case. I'm Emmy, by the by; Emmy Granger."

"I'm Harriet Watson. I'm afraid I didn't quite understand all that," Harriet confessed as Emmy scoped up a good deal of the fallen books as if they were no more than scattered bits of paper. The group that Emmy had been talking with was already moving along down the sidewalk, not that Emmy noted them. The blonde somehow managed with an armload of books to still help Harriet to her feet. When the fiend started towards the building that hosted the medical students, Harriet paused just long enough to grab her scarf (that was attempting to make another break for it) before following, lest she lose the bulk of her texts for this term.

"Well, Harry, I'm used to being misunderstood," Emmy announced when Harriet fell in step with her. "You Brits practically speak a different language, after all. Been down here less than two years, aside from three I spent at St. Anne's School for Ladies in London proper. Wouldn't have been here now, 'ceptin' I got kicked out of Edinburgh. Honestly, it's not like I could have known what would have happen to the auld mutt when I took it for a daunder. And I did nae have anything to do with that fire in the dorms. I do nae care how many witnesses they have tha' say otherwise!"

The newly-dubbed Harry couldn't help but think that maybe this Emmy character was a bit over the top, perhaps more than a little mental. The woman's violently purple dress with the vividly cerulean shawl around her waist and shocking lime coat was bright against the winter-covered quad and the far more sensible blacks, creams, and browns of the other students filtering through the campus. Harriet had honestly never felt so mousy before, with her brown hair and hazel eyes. She also had the feeling that Emmy was the type of person that her brother Jonathan would warn her against making a part of her social circle.

But John wasn't here and Emmy was, bright and beautiful and _impossible_ Emmy.

"I think we're gonna be the best of friends, Harry," Emmy declared as she held the door for Harriet. There was something in those dark blue eyes that made Harriet shiver with something that wouldn't be defined for a few years yet. Noting the slight reaction, Emmy gave an easy grin. "The very best!"

It was an accident.

It was not a mistake.


	4. Necessities of Life

-= LP =-

Necessities of Life

-= LP =-

 _Dear Student,_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will be offering a special class this year. Participation in this class is not mandatory, but there are some very good outcomes of taking the course. In addition to a normal grade, credit for this course will be applied to your N.E.W.T.S in Potions, Transfiguration, and Charms. In the course of the class, you also gain valuable life skills that you can take to any future career._

 _This class is called "_ _ **Magical Necessities**_ _". Among other things such as magical traditions, you will be learning about pregnancy and parenting of an infant. If female, you will experience an abbreviated pregnancy first hand, including labor. The "child" will be a magical construct formed by mixing the blood of you and your partner. As part of the magical process, this construct will appear to be a normal infant with rapid growth being the only apparent difference. For more information on what this course will entail, see the enclosed documents._

 _For this class, you will be paired with a partner who will help you with fulfill the goal of the class. Participants will be paired by a committee of the overseeing faculty by a specified list of criteria such as academic strength and personality requirements. The use of compatibility charms and potions will also be considered. If possible, pairs will be mixed gender. There is also the possibility of an odd number grouping. You will be sharing a suite of rooms with your partner._

 _If you agree to participate, you must report to a mandatory meeting on August twenty-fourth at nine o'clock in the morning in the Great Hall. You will meet both the overseeing committee and your partner at that time. If female, you will be implanted with your "embryo" prior to leaving this meeting. You may elect to stay at Hogwarts in your assigned quarters._

 _The class will start the first day of classes and be concluded a week before the end of the school year. Once you have agreed to participate, you have agreed to have your N.E.W.T.S. scores altered by the individual grade gained by this course._

 _All necessary supplies for care of the golem will be provided as well as a qualified Healer specializing in prenatal and pediatric medicine._

 _Due to the topic and possible risks of this class, participation is restricted to sixth and seventh years._

 _If you agree to participate, sign the enclosed waiver and return it no later than July thirty-first. A list of required books and a suggested reading list will be mailed to you along with a single use portkey and its activation word._

 _Minerva McGonagall_

 _Deputy Headmistress_

 _Head of Gryffindor_

-= LP =-

Minerva McGonagall sealed the envelope on the last program letter and handed it off to Severus to be inscribed with the address. The two professors had moved from mere colleagues long ago, but these recent events had made them rebels in arms together. She hadn't expected such staunch support against Albus from the prickly young man, but he was the first to vote to include the new program when the assistant headmistress had pushed to overrule the headmaster the only way possible without calling for his removal. The Heads of House could, by unanimous vote, change the curriculum by adding or subtracting some point up to and including a new course. Each headmaster was allowed three such votes before the Board of Governors had to review his tenure to decide whether they wanted to continue with him. Minerva sighed as the weight of her betrayal hit her again.

"This course is important, Minerva," Severus stated calmly. He added the now-addressed letter to the stack for the next day's post. The ending of the war had agreed with the potion master. Over the last few months, he had made small cosmetic improvements such as whitening his teeth and he had changed the protective condition he put in his hair to something that Minerva believed Miss Granger had recommended. Nothing could be done about the hooked nose, but overall Severus looked healthier. But then again, didn't they all? "You know this. I know this. You've been pushing for this program since before I started here and we both know that the brats need to know the consequences of their reckless dalliances. This course also gives a valuable foundation of our culture and a budding knowledge of specialty magical theory that is sorely lacking here in Britannia. Do not allow Albus' attitude upset you. He should have approved the course years ago and in time he will realize it."

"But I betrayed—"

"You will find, Minerva," Severus continued over her as if he had never paused for breath. He interlaced his long fingers as he leaned back in his chair to observe her. She felt his feet bump hers as he stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankles. Even with the appearance of relaxation that he gave with the posture, Minerva felt that he was poised to strike. His drawl continued as soon as he was comfortable. "You will find that there are times that you must choose between what is _right_ and what is comfortable. I feel that this is one such time."

"I find it hard to think that something is right when Lucius Malfoy agrees with it," Minerva said with a regal sniff. It was a truth that kept nagging. Lucius had been more than helpful in persuading the other older members of the Board of Governors to approve the curriculum for the Magical Necessities Program. The lord had even donated the initial cost of setting up the wing for the students when Albus had dug in his heels about releasing the funds. Albus had not even signed the permission form for the salary of the two new staff members the program required. Lucius, acting on behalf of the Board, had.

"Lucius wishes to see magical culture preserved," Severus explained, a wry smile twisting his too thin lips as if he knew about her inner distaste for his associate. "Since this program includes a course on said traditions and their origins, he will, of course, push for it. It does help that Albus is so set against the program. Lucius always enjoys crossing proverbial swords with the old man."

"And you? What do you get out of supporting it, Severus?"

"Did you know that Miss Granger was attempting to free Hogwarts' house elves?"

"What? I hadn't heard that. Are you sure of your source?"

"Considering that my source was the girl herself, yes. Miss Granger saw only the injustice of slavery and wished to rectify the situation. I set her straight on the biological necessity of house elves to be of service and provided a pass for the required books on the subject so that she may confirm the facts on her own. Now I will tell you the scary fact, Minerva: Miss Granger wishes to become a barrister and change the world, for what she sees as the better."

"How is that scary?" Minerva demanded. Her brogue thickened as she grew upset at the defense of one of her lions. "You cannot deny that there are things that need to change!"

"And I'm not denying that. But Miss Granger does not have a good foundation on how the magical world operates. Call it an unfortunate side effect of not being raised in it as well as Magical Culture being taken off the elective list. I don't know how he got that pass the Heads…and frankly, I'm baffled as to why he did it in the first place."

"The professor kept pushing the Death Eater agenda. Albus had to do something—"

"Alexander Nott-Smith was many things, including a bigoted bully, but trust me when I say he was not a Death Eater. His faults were many, but that was not one of them. I have learned to take Albus' _facts_ with a healthy dose of salt. I'm surprised that you have not, Minerva."

The rebuke was mild compared to some he had snarled out over the years. Minerva felt a flush creeping up her cheeks. Resolutely, she shook her head. Severus was still the voice of discontent among the staff. There was no doubt about that. Last year had been especially tense. There were a few time she had interrupted an argument between the two wizards. She looked at Severus with new eyes as an idea occurred to her. The Slytherin knew something he was not saying. As if sensing her epiphany, Severus stood and picked up the stack of letters.

"Well, I'll take these to the Owlery. It's late. You appear in need of a rest. See you tomorrow at the staff meeting. Do you think that Horace will make another bid for freedom from the dunderheads?"

"Oh, Severus, why do you stay if you hate the students so much?" she asked exasperated. It was an old question that she didn't think he'd ever answered. He never answered with anything other than a smirk. She was surprised when he sighed and spoke.

"Have you ever seen one of your students perform their assigned task with a manner so graceful that it seemed as if they were born to do this one thing? There's light in their eyes—they are on fire with their passion. Those students are what make teaching worth it, Minerva. The only problem is they are so few." Severus sighed again. "The rest are, regretfully, idiots."

"Concise as always, Severus."

"I do try, Minerva."

-= LP =-

Daphne Greengrass set the letter from Hogwarts aside with all the delicate precision befitting her bloodline. Careful not to expose her surprise at such a daring program, the Slytherin seventh year returned her attention to her bowl of porridge topped with lush blackberries. It was a rich breakfast as she liked cream in her cereal as well as honey, but she had been hungrier than a half of grapefruit this morning. It also helped that she had an equestrian lesson this morning, so she was certain that she'd require the extra energy.

"Well, what did they want?"

The question came from her impatient little sister. Daphne swallowed her bite, setting down her spoon, and patted her lips with her napkin before answering Astoria. The fourth year was visually vibrating with her vicious curiosity. It was times like this that Daphne was not surprised that the girl ended up in Ravenclaw rather than Slytherin. Slytherin would have eaten Astoria alive.

"It appears that there will be a new program of study offered this year at Hogwarts. The course, Magical Necessities, will cover certain facts of life that are often overlooked, or blatantly disregarded, by the muggleborn and muggle-raised. I must admit that I am astonished that Headmaster Dumbledore allowed such a course."

This last bit was not directed to her little sister, but to her listening parents. The two adults shared a look between them. It never failed to send a ripple of pleasure through her when she witnessed these little intimate moments. Claudio Greengrass and Hero Rosier were married a month after they graduated from Hogwarts. It was an arranged marriage, from a betrothal contact created when they were both five. Despite this, there was a quiet contentment between the pair that spoke of a deep bond. There was no doubt in Daphne's mind that she and her younger siblings were born of love as well as duty.

She only hoped that she was as compatible with the unnamed partner that they chose for her. They hadn't told who yet, only that he was the same year as herself. The boy had not approached her thus far. She had already ruled out many of her fellow Slytherins due to knowledge of their contracts. It was possible that she'd be in a triumvirate contract, but even that did not worry her so much. She and Tracy Davis, her best friend, had discussed the possibility. Tracy was a half-blood, however, and may not be acceptable to Daphne's future spouse.

Her father cleared his throat, bringing her attention back to the present. Claudio Greengrass had his chin firmly set in the way that Daphne knew meant that he had made a decision and she would have to abide by it or else. Hero Greengrass had her right hand securely on his arm, either supporting or restraining. ' _Or both,'_ Daphne thought as she observed her mother's face, which held an expression of calm acceptance. Unaccountably, Daphne felt her stomach twist. She could almost feel well-laid plans shifting under the silence that now filled the dining room.

"Daphne, my apple bud," her father started before stopping. Daphne's heart stilled, then started again so fast that Daphne felt a little bit light headed. He only used the pet name when he was breaking bad news, or news that he thought might be met with resistance. Her mother gave her a beatific smile that sparkled in her cobalt eyes. "It is the duty of every pureblood, but especially those of noble birth, to preserve our culture. As a Daughter of this House, it is yours as well."

"I know this, Daddy," Daphne answered through the lump in her throat. She set her hands demurely in her lap. With her thick braid of black hair laid over her shoulder, she was the picture of a lady. Her father seemed to relax a bit at both her posture and verbal acquiescence. In an even tone, she recited the family motto, a lesson she had learned almost as soon as she could speak. " _Malo mori quam foedari._ "

' _I prefer to die than to be dishonored.'_

"Yes, well," Claudio replied after a long moment. He looked rather pale at the concept. "Hopefully it will not come to that."

"Darling, what your father is trying to say," Hero interrupted smoothly when it seemed that Claudio might lapse into silence for good, "is that we want you to participate in the program."

Daphne blinked. The tension began to drain from her body. Was that all? All that build up was for her to participate in a silly course that she was already considering due to her desire to become a Healer? She blinked again. Her mother was biting her bottom lip in the way that she did when she was attempting to remain serious when all she wanted to do was laugh. Her father, normally so strong and stoic, appeared on the verge of a fit. His ruddy face had pale splotches in a few places. Idly, Daphne wondered if he was having trouble with his heart again.

"Of course," the Slytherin said slowly, each syllable weighed against the others, "there would be things that I would require should I participate."

Astoria rolled her eyes in that silly manner that she had to have picked up from a muggleborn or half-blood in her dormitory. Her mother gave her father's arm a single pat before she turned back to her meal. Her father looked relieved to be opening negotiations rather than dealing with a tantrum of some sort. Claudio Greengrass understood the need to receive compensation for one's risk. He, like his eldest daughter, was a Slytherin after all. Hero had learned tolerance through long exposure. If her baby brother had been there instead at Grandfather Rosier's, he would have shown more composure than Astoria had, for all that Benedict was only nine.

"I believe that you will find your requirements will be easily managed, so long as they are reasonable."

Daphne had an idea of what she wanted. She knew it was a long shot and might be… _unreasonable_ …but she knew that sometimes wild risks were necessary for victory. Potter and Malfoy's little alliance last year was proof of that. She didn't want anything as utterly insane as complete victory over a Dark Lord, just assurance of her future happiness. She held the upper hand here, she knew. Her purity was a bargaining chip and this program would remove it. Daphne gave her father a small smile and tilted her head to one side, the very picture of innocence.

Then she made her demand.

-= LP =-

Ron Weasley snorted as he finished reading the letter that had come in the post that morning. Why would someone volunteer to take an extra course? Well, other than Hermione. He shook his head and laid down the letter. Hermione would probably be all over this. She lives for learning things. Ron pushed impatiently at a bit of shaggy red hair that had moved into his eyes when he had shaken his head. Mum will probably be after him soon about it.

Ron tossed his letter on the table, choosing to ignore it in favor of his brekkie. With a predatory grin, he speared a banger and lifted it to his mouth. Before the lanky lad could sink his teeth into the tasty treat, however, there was a rather high-pitched squeal from Hermione and Ginny's direction. He gave the excited bookworm a gimlet eye which she ignored.

"Oh, yes," the bushy-haired witch exclaimed. "Finally, we get to learn how to brew potions for children! Professor Snape said we wouldn't get to do that due to time constraints."

Ron took a bite of his sausage. Chewing, he looked over at his other friend, expecting to share their usual look of indulgent amusement at the philia of their female friend. That was when he had his first inkling of something being different. Harry was looking at his letter with a thoughtful expression. It really wasn't anything new. Since their sexpartite had rebound You-Know-Who's soul last spring, the youngest of the boys had been very thoughtful and prone to introspection.

"Oh, bloody hell," Ron muttered around his mouthful as he realized what he had just thought. He had done it again. He had slipped into Hermione-speech. Ron swallowed hard as he felt the filtered humor from the others. Harry was now looking at him over the edge of the letter, his lips pressed so hard against each other in his attempt to not laugh or smile that they were turning pale. Hermione looked torn between humor and vexation and was apparently settling for merely shaking her head. Ginny coughed discreetly into her hand though her face matched her hair. No doubt she was remembering being busted with Dean Thomas due to the bond. Neville and Luna were laughing wherever they were at the moment, he just knew it.

"Ronald!"

All thoughts of being laughed at by his friends fled at his mother's angry tone. Slowly, he turned to face his doom. His mum had her hands on her hips, an oven mitt clutched in her left fist. Ron opened his mouth to defend himself, but closed it when one of those hands came up to wag a finger at him.

"I will not have that kind of language at my table," she raged. "I don't care if you are of age or not!"

"But—Hermione bled over again! I can't help it!"

"I don't care! Mind your manners or leave the room!"

"But, Mum—"

"No 'buts', mister. Now, Hermione dear, what were the letters about? It's a bit early for the supply lists."

"They are having a special course this year. It seems a bit like muggle home economics. You know, child care, magical traditions, specialty potions and charms," Hermione replied as she quickly scanned through the sheets of parchment that held the details. "A good basis of the practical application of magic to a household—oh, they will even have a few lessons on wards. You'll like that, Harry."

"That did look interesting, but what about the baby stuff?"

"Oh," Hermione replied. She looked at her letter packet again. She appeared to be stunned by the realization that the lessons will include the intimate care of an infant. Ron was tempted to make a comment—turnabout was fair play after all—but the honest befuddlement he felt swirling through the bond stayed his tongue. "It would be a very good opportunity—and such an advantage as well with the added weight to the N.E.W.T.s. But a baby…I know nothing about babies…"

"Oh, it's all instinct, dearie," Molly Weasley said as she took a tray of scones from oven. Deftly, she waved her wand, causing the tray to float in the air above the counter as she transferred the baked goods to a cooling rack. "You will find that you can't learn about rearing children from a _book_."

Hermione looked horrified by the prospect of her books failing her. Ginny patted her on the back. Harry had a thoughtful expression on his face again. Ron couldn't feel the directions of those thoughts. That didn't worry him like it did Hermione. Harry was the 'quietest' one of their little group and Ron rarely got more than a general feel of things that concerned him…unlike Hermione, who colored everyone's thoughts with big words and complicated terms, or Luna who didn't give feelings so much as a plethora of colors and patterns with tiny stolen snatches of music. _'Ginny_ _was the loudest,'_ Ron decided, recalling that he now knew far more about his sister than any brother could stomach. Neville was a nice steady rock, a stabilizing force in the bond, especially in the first turbulent weeks following the Final Battle.

"The muggle world has lots of parenting books," Hermione protested, "and books about pregnancy. It's not that different, is it?"

"I'm not sure," his mum answered. "I don't know any muggle women."

"I want to do it," Ginny interrupted with a seemingly non sequitur. Everyone turned to look at the girl who was still red in the face. Molly looked pale.

"Hermione, how will the students be learning about taking care of children?" Molly asked the question without looking away from her youngest child, her only daughter. There was the same dangerous glint in her eyes that had been there last Christmas when Ginny had mentioned that she was going to fight alongside Harry no matter what. Ron's breakfast suddenly seemed heavy in his stomach. He began to strengthen the thin walls separating his mind from Ginny's.

"The _Familia_ _Nor_ Potion with a Time Charm to accelerate the growth," Hermione answered quietly, not needing to look at the parchment to do so. Molly closed her eyes as if pained by the information. The buxom woman took a deep breath after swallowing so hard that Ron could hear the sound of it. Fortified, his mother looked calmly in Ginny's eyes and spoke two words with the firmness of granite.

"Absolutely not."

At that moment, his father entered the kitchen. Merrily, he greeted them all, receiving mumbled replies. Arthur Weasley sat down at the head of the table and began to fill his plate from the offerings on the table. He seemed oblivious to the tension in the room.

"Has the paper arrived yet?"

Harry passed the copy of the _Daily Prophet_ to Hermione who was sitting closest to Arthur. Equally absently, the bookworm passed it to the redhead's eager hands. The Weasley patriarch unfolded the paper and disappeared behind it. For a moment, the sound of rustling newsprint was the only thing breaking the silence. Then Ginny exploded, rising to her feet.

"It will help my N.E.W.T.s! Of course, I'm doing it!"

"Your grades don't require help!"

"The higher they are, the better my chances of acceptance from employers!"

"So study harder! Bill didn't need any help getting on with Gringotts. Charlie didn't with the reserve—Percy—" Molly choked on her third child's name, but rallied quickly. Her earlier calm was still present beneath her heated exchanges. Ron had never seen his mother look so composed while yelling at them. "You don't need to go through with this harebrained scheme to be hirable."

"I'm doing it!"

"No, you are _not._ "

"Yes, I am," Ginny said with sudden ice. Ron got a feeling of smugness from Ginny that matched the victorious expression on her face. He shared a worried look with Harry and Hermione. This did not bode well. What Ginny said next confirmed his thoughts and caused his mother to pale further. "I'm seventeen—you can't stop me."

With those words, the youngest Weasley spun on her heels and stormed from the room. Arthur blinked at the remaining crowd in the kitchen. He looked baffled at his daughter's behavior.

"What in the blueness of Merlin's beard was that all about?"

-= LP =-

As a rule, Neville Longbottom did not receive mail. Of course there were exceptions to this rule. All his Hogwarts letters came to him and once a week for the past two years, Luna would write him. Occasionally, he would hear from Hannah Abbott or Susan Bones, a hangover from a rather adventurous few months last year that he was determined about which Gran would never hear. The only things that came with regularity that weren't Luna's letters were his subscriptions to _Herbology Today_ and the _Quibbler_ , and both periodicals were brought to the table by the house elves. Therefore the nondescript owl landing before him caused him to stare for a few long moments while jam dripped from his spoon.

"A gentleman doesn't gape, Neville," his Gran corrected primly as she carefully added cream to her oatmeal. Augusta Longbottom was every inch the dowager lady in her motions. Even as she approached eighty she moved with a grace that Neville could never manage, even on his best day. Watching Gran in action was a bit like watching a force of nature. He could only hope that he could someday match her skill in everything she did, from the running of the House to political tangles. All in all, and quite despite his recent victory fighting alongside Harry, Neville still found his grandmother to be rather intimidating, especially when she looked down her nose at him like she was doing at the moment.

"Y-yes, Gran," Neville replied as he rested his spoon on the edge of his plate of toast and reached for the proffered letter. The owl flapped its wings and clacked its beak threateningly at him, but did not attack as the one for his Hogwarts letter had done. It was with relief that he watched the bird take flight without waiting for a treat. Confusion quickly reclaimed its place from that brief feeling when he spotted the familiar purple seal. His brow furrowed even as he popped the wax's hold upon the parchment. "Tis too early for the supply lists," he muttered.

"Please refrain from muttering, dear," Augusta said. "It's most unbecoming."

"Yes, Gran," Neville replied, automatically making sure he spoke clearly. Silence reigned as Neville read the letter. The fact that Gran didn't correct his uncouth action of reading at the breakfast table made him certain that she knew something of why Hogwarts would be contacting him so early in the summer. When he reached the end of the letter, he understood why his grandmother would have allowed the misbehavior. Due to her position on the Board of Governors, she would have known of something this big. He looked at her only to receive a raised eyebrow in return.

Distantly, he felt Ron's dismay and caught the whirlwind of amusement from Ginny and Hermione. A small smile turned up the edges of his lips at the happy feeling. Through it all was the crescendo of a bodhran speeding like a mouse's heart. Oh, yes, that was right. Luna would have received the same letter, wouldn't she?

"Well?"

Gran had left her meal unattended and had done something that she almost never did. She had placed her elbows upon the table on either side of the bowl. Her fingers were laced together to form a platform upon which her chin rested. Her seal brown eyes were focused upon his face, a position that they rarely took and that was rarely needed. Her oval face spoke only of her inquiry, saying nothing of what she desired of him. He was sure that she required some action from him, but for the life of him, that action escaped his knowledge.

"It's from Hogwarts," he started carefully. His own eyes searched her face for answers. "There's a special course being offered this year." Still, she revealed nothing. "It appears that they will be offering something concerning magical culture. It would affect the N.E.W.T. scores of a few courses." Silence met his answer. He fought against a nervous fidget. A couple of beads of sweat blossomed on his forehead. He held steady for a few moments more before he finally broke. "Gran, just tell me what you wish me to do."

Finally, the dowager moved. True, it was to frown thoughtfully at his words, but it was still action. Augusta sat back in her chair, moving her hands to the armrests of her chair. She watched him stony-faced for a long moment before she spoke.

"Neville, how long have the Longbottoms held Blackpool?"

"Since thirteen-forty-two, grandmother," he answered automatically. It was history that he had learned in his years of tutorage before Hogwarts, some of the first in fact. "We were given it as an honor serving the Duke of Peverell in the Goblin Rebellion of thirteen-thirty-nine. Longbottom blood was spilt in noble service and honorable battle."

"Just so," she confirmed. She raised a long finger to stroke the cameo at her throat. After a deep breath as if in fortification, she continued. "Our family has a long history of service to Britannia. We have shed blood, sweat, and tears in that service. Not once has this comital failed in its duty. The question before us ever is simple, grandson and Heir: what would best serve Britannia?"

Neville nodded as his thoughts turned upon themselves like a tangle of Devil's Snare. At first her words made no sense in context, completely non sequitur. He glanced down at the parchment in his hand and caught sight of a turn of phrase that hadn't truly registered in his initial reading. Confusion lifted from him like fog after dawning. He met her gaze again, and nodded. He understood what was his duty in this, how best to serve.

There was really only ever one answer.


	5. Death's Master Sponsors a Flame

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

 **Warnings:** This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers.

 **Author's Note(s):** This piece was written for the Houses Competition on the FFN Forums.

 **The Houses Competition Information** :  
 **House** : Hufflepuff  
 **Category** : Hunger Games  
 **Prompts** : "How did I get here?"; Unexpected Circumstances  
 **Word Count** : 1679

-= LP =-

 _Death's Master Sponsors a Flame_

-= LP =-

Yet if hope has flown away

In a night, or in a day,

In a vision, or in none,

Is it therefore the less gone?

All that we see or seem

Is but a dream within a dream.

– Edgar Allen Poe, _A Dream Within a Dream_

-= LP =-

Harry hated the Games.

Over the centuries, he had become desensitized to most of what his title entailed for him. Death really was merely a part of life, and nearly everyone succumbed to it eventually. He had taken so many that their faces blurred. A child was the same as the most elderly man.

But the Games…they made him _sick_.

It was death without purpose.

It was monstrous.

He hated it, and every year they happened without fail.

Children made into murderers—it was so much like what Dumbledore did all those years ago that Harry just couldn't stand them.

Seventy-three games, and not once did he see any way of stopping the pointless bloodbath.

Then they Reaped the wrong flower and the arrow screamed.

Harry could only laugh.

He knew the difference between being dragged into an arena and marching in with a high-held head.

For the first time, Harry signed on as a sponsor for a Game. He already knew which Tribute he wanted but he let the mentors have their attempts to woo his favor. If anyone noticed that he shared many of those drinks with a specific mentor, they probably dismissed it as just two drunks congregating at the bar. Amid the vapid idiots who cared for nothing more than entertainment, District 12's sole mentor was a balm to the ageless wizard. Haymitch didn't understand, not at first. He was too blinded by drink and guilt.

Then his girl lost her temper.

God, if Harry hadn't already liked the kid, he would have just from that. To top it all off with a bow was just freaking beautiful. Even having to calm Haymitch afterwards couldn't deaden the spark growing within Harry. Maybe—just maybe, mind—Katniss Everdeen would be exactly what ended this madness.

Oh, what wonders that a single spark could alight!

-= LP =-

"How _did_ I end up here?"

Katniss dragged her gaze away from the sparkling skyline. Everyone's voice was unfamiliar, so yet another didn't bother her. The mocking tone was close to the one Haymitch used but it lacked the drunken slur and bitterness. The man lounging on the settee was most definitely _not_ the victor. He was also not as confused as his words made it seem. All she could tell about him in the shadows of the room was that he was small and lithe. Maybe he was another tribute?

"Am I supposed to answer that?"

"Oh, no, but I was getting bored sitting in silence. It seemed a good way to start this conversation."

"As good as any I suppose," Katniss agreed. "What conversation is this?"

"Manners, darling," the man scolded with restrained laughter. Katniss rolled her eyes at the familiar rebuke. Effie had been overly insistent on that same subject. If the chaperone wasn't harping on manners, then it was a reminder to _smile_. The man gave a flash of teeth. "I'm going to be your new best friend, Katniss Everdeen. Name's Harry."

"I'm not good at the whole friends thing, Harry."

"It's a skill that anyone can learn with a bit of effort, _Catnip_."

"How do you know that name?"

"I know lots of things, probably more than _certain people_ would like. I know it's more than I would like."

"I don't like—"

"What? _This_? That's why I'm here, sweet pea."

"Why are you here?"

"Oh, petal, I'm here because you are."

"Thanks. That tells me nothing."

"You're welcome, my blossom."

"You have an obsession with flowers, don't you?"

"Oh, yes," Harry answered with another flashing grin. "It's quite extensive—almost as extensive as President Snow's obsession with those enhanced roses of his." Harry's face twisted into a grimace of disgust. "Thankfully, mine is not because I'm an idiot." He shook his head as he gave a huffy laugh. "Well, I do suppose sentiment is its own type of idiocy, isn't it?"

"Are you a victor then?"

"In a way, I could claim that title, yes." There was more to that statement. She could feel it. She could _taste_ it. It was the breaking of her heart when she heard Effie call out Prim's name; it was deliberately burnt bread soaked with rain and mud. The echo of every moment that had broken or made her was in his words. "I didn't compete in your Games, and no one truly wins a war, but once upon a time, I did fight and as impossible as it seemed, I did survive."

"You survived a war? You don't even look old enough to not stand for the Reaping."

"See? You're learning more about friendship already, mint-leaf."

"I'm not soothing," she countered. Harry barked out a laugh, as if her words had startled it from him. It was an honest laugh, so unlike Effie's twitter and Haymitch's snickers. He settled back into his slouch again, still smiling. No one had smiled at her like that since her father died.

"You are more soothing than you can possibly understand, lemon balm." He watched her as if measuring an already familiar weight. Like a rabbit sensing a fox's gaze, she stilled. Her heart pounded like a mockingjay's wings. "It is a bitter potion to swallow, being a hero. Everyone will make their attempt to use you—the good guys, the bad guys, it's really difficult to tell which is which after a while. No matter what you do, people will die—good people who don't deserve it. A hero does what they must with what they have—and most of the time, they end up surviving, alone but still alive."

"I'm not a hero."

"No, you're not," Harry agreed as if her dissent was about something like the weather. "Heroes are not born, Katniss. They are made. They are normal people who have been broken a thousand times—they shatter like glass and their enemies drink their blood like it's a fine wine. Talent does not matter; money does not matter; even luck does not matter. A hero is just a person who is willing to—"

Harry cut himself off before shoving himself off the couch. He stalked over to the window beside her. For the first time, she could see him clearly. His face was unlined like the teen she had accused of him of being, but despite his eyes being the same vibrant color of summer foliage, they were too old and weary to be alive at all. Whoever he was, Harry was a contradiction in himself.

"To what?" she whispered when it became obvious that he wasn't going to continue on his own. He shifted his gaze to her. There was a shimmer to the air around him. She could feel it trembling against her skin like rippling water. Every word Harry had spoken tonight had the lilt of knowledge to it. He had experienced all of it, and there was probably more than what had been mentioned.

"To become Death, Katniss," Harry answered. "To become the destroyer of worlds."

"And who would want to do that?"

"Why, those who would save it, sweet atropa."

"Poison does fit me better."

"Only because no one expects the circumstances of their end." Harry tilted his head to the side, examining her anew. His nose wrinkled like Prim's did when she was thinking hard about something. It smoothed after a moment. "You don't see it, do you? How much he loves you—how much he is willing to risk for just the chance of saving you. Oh, for God and Magic, he would be willing to burn the world for you." Harry's cheek twitched as if another one of his grins had attempted to break the surface of his sea of sorrow. "You're not any mere bog-plant. You're a Lily."

"You're mad, aren't you?"

"Such things don't matter much after the first century, my petal," he replied. "They gave me a name as well, you know. 'The Boy-Who-Lived'. I wonder if they knew what would be my eventual fate. I have mastered every aspect of death, except how to do it myself. Can't quite manage that part, though not from lack of trying. But you! 'The Girl on Fire'! No one sees your real flames, do they? They see the ice queen, the stoic and violent brat who can't reign in her temper. Did you know that I was watching that day? As you've noticed, I have a weakness for flowers." He paused and watched her face for a moment. "But then so do you."

"That was not the best day ever."

"But it was," he denied. "We never expect the circumstances of the end. Fate's a bitch, but a canny one, and Death, as much as I love her, is a whore for any willing to give her what she wants. She feasts upon life while Fate becomes drunk on free will. Both are partial to hummingbird traps—destruction, then lying hope, and destruction again. Just as chaos is a ladder, hope is a torch. A single torch can set a whole world ablaze."

"Why are you here, Harry? For real?"

"I wanted to meet the Tributes I will be sponsoring."

"You're a sponsor? Really?"

"Only because you're a Tribute, potato of my heart." Harry gave her a flash of a grin, the sorrowful weight melting away into the shadowed corners of his demeanor. "Try not to get mashed tomorrow. Do that for me and I'll arrange for you to set the world on fire."

"What about Peeta?"

"You drive a hard bargain, carrot." He waved his hands through the air to cut off her protest. "No! Don't twist my arm any more. I can't stand the pain. It will be tricky, but Peeta's good at burning things, too, I guess."

"You're crazy. There's no way they'd let two people win."

"You will find that sometimes insanity is the only appropriate response to the reality of one's circumstance." Harry wiggled his fingers at her as he faded from sight. The green of his eyes was the last to disappear. Like a dream upon waking, he was gone.


	6. Wit Beyond Measure

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

 **Warnings:** This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers.

 **Summary (** _ **Wit Beyond Measure**_ **):** Luna had enough of chasing cryptozoological creatures and living out of a trunk, at least for a while. Maybe in a year or two, she'd go back to traveling the world. She could write up her findings! She's been meaning to do that for ages. Renting a flat in central London would be a change of pace from the wild reaches, certainly, but there'd be people around again. That would be nice.

 **Author's Note(s):** This piece was written for the Houses Competition on the FFN Forums.

 **The Houses Competition Information** :  
 **House** : Hufflepuff  
 **Category** : Sherlock Holmes  
 **Prompts** : "If you say that once more, I am going to lose it,"; Waking up in the wrong bed  
 **Word Count** : 1937

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 _Wit Beyond Measure  
_ When Sherlock Met Luna

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"Peace cannot be kept by force; it can only be achieved by understanding." – Albert Einstein

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It had been only a few weeks since Sherlock had returned to business as usual with better than an official pardon for shooting Magnussen. Waiting may have been his plan and perfectly logical, but god, he was _bored_. There had been plenty of cases, but none had broken a 5. Waiting was becoming utter agony. The longer he tried to note everything around him, the more things he noted. It was starting to slow his ability to process the sensory input.

"Sherlock, come meet Luna," Mrs. Hudson called as he tried to escape up to his flat the moment he had noted someone with the cartel bookkeeper cum landlady. He frowned but returned the two steps to the ground level. "And be _nice_!"

The woman standing beside her was surprisingly tan for someone so blond. Her hair was uncommonly long but the weight didn't appear to bother her, even coiled into a bun on her crown like it was. The hair stick she was using was oddly shaped—at least three times as thick as normal and longer as well. The handle had a patina that could only be born of habitual use—more than would be warranted by its current one. She was English but made no attempt to extend her hand in greeting. More importantly, every second he spent reading her instead of saying anything, her smile grew rather than faded. He was sorting out the possible questions he could use to test that response when she broke the silence.

"You really should find a better way of distracting yourself," she stated as calm and drifting as a breeze. Her voice was a balm to his ears. She rocked on the balls of her feet, a release of excited energy. She tilted her head, drawing his attention to the line of her throat. The scars there were an odd mixture—some were from knives of various sizes but others were at the wrong angle. Claws? Maybe fangs? She wiggled her fingers at him in a little wave—those calluses had to be from the hair stick and a small knife, double-sided, judging on the scar on the tip of her index finger from where she guided the blade despite always nicking herself. A splash of black ink stained the side of her thumb. "You'll tangle in the threads if you don't pull back from the weave occasionally. You're catching now."

"Am I?"

"Oh, yes," Luna confirmed as she brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear with the hand she hadn't waved at him. It had similar calluses as the other one but without the knife scar. The ink stain on that thumb was the characteristic blue of De Atramentis' _Plum_. Ambidextrous, then, with a preference for fountain pens. There was one of those not-fangs marks on her cheekbone fresh enough to disrupt the tan in the skin around its edges. "Who are you poking at with the knocker?"

"My archenemy," Sherlock said without the level of bite he would have given the term before his Fall. It had been very sentimental for Mycroft to have extracted him personally rather than send underlings. Luna made a noise of comprehension while Mrs. Hudson watched them in her typical anxious way. Honestly, he was perfectly capable of not upsetting guests—ah, that's it, wasn't it? This woman wasn't a guest.

"And there it is," Luna announced. Mrs. Hudson chewed her bottom lip, ruining her lipstick. Luna patted Mrs. Hudson's shoulder before rubbing down her arm as if the older woman was a cat needing stroked. "Tis fine, Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock's just realized that I'm moving into 221C. Slower than I expected from what you've told me, but he's a mite distracted at the moment."

"That's just Sherlock, dear, and he doesn't really have an archenemy."

"Oh, but he does!" Her eyes weren't strictly gray. There were actually streaks of a dusty violet; the odd color served to make the other shades of gray seem to shimmer like the carapace of a strange beetle. She grinned at him just like John would after they solved a thrilling case that brought them close to death. "He's talking about his brother."

"Oh, don't be—"

"It's sibling rivalry, dear Hudson," Luna declared, turning all of her attention to the hovering landlady. Her hair had multiple shades of blond, too many for the color to be anything but natural. She took care of it all but recently she cut the strand that kept escaping the ear-tuck. It had been bound together and cut with a blade above the binding, making the resulting end a mixture of lengths differing barely enough to be noticeable even to him when he's like this. Her ears were pierced multiple times (most in the cartilage zone but twice in the detached lobe), but the basic piercing was the longest one and judging by the lengthening of the hole's bottom rim, she was prone to wearing hooks with a modicum of weight to the decoration. "I don't have siblings myself, but there was a family near where I grew up that had seven children. They were always competing against each other. Since Sherlock here is the dramatic sort, of course he would announce his older brother is an archenemy. Of course, the elder Mr. Holmes encourages it."

"Mycroft would never—"

"I'm terribly sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Hudson," Luna said with gentle firmness, "but I must disagree. This Mycroft most definitely would. Otherwise Sherlock will look too closely—even closer than he is right now. He's just catching a little now. Whatever this hidden weft is would likely trap him. Sherlock's not going to stop tugging on his own, now is he? He's an addict."

"I'm clean!"

"Oh, please," Luna scoffed at his denial. She rolled her eyes as she twisted her body in a way that reminded Sherlock of how Mary sometimes did when she perceived a potential threat in a spot she deemed non-ideal. Luna gave him a soft smile, yet another similarity to the other woman. "Don't bother _fibbing_. Addicts are never _clean_."

"I _am_ clean."

"Fibbing."

"I have detoxed completely."

"Fibbing."

"I haven't had a cigarette in ages."

"Fibbing."

"Not even a patch in weeks."

"Fibbing," she called out in a sing-song tone. It was a childish tease but a comfortable one. She had to spend time playing with children at their level, despite being neither a mother or an aunt, at least biologically. Odd; wasn't children a biological imperative of women in their late thirties? "Sherlock's _fibbing_."

"If you say _that_ once more, I am going to lose it," he threatened, falling into the same childish churl. She smiled innocently at him, matching her previous childish actions.

"Then stop _lying_. You're high right now." Luna smoothed the fabric of her cobalt sundress. The style of it was simple, without belts or ribbons or buttons of any sort. The only embellishment of any sort was the bronze swirls embroidered on the handkerchief hem of the skirt and the facing of the boat neckline. There was a faded bruise on her right clavicle, almost completely covered by the way the fabric rested. "See? You can't stop. You're going to burn up if you don't find a better way to handle this."

"Sherlock Holmes! Do I need call John?" Already, Mrs. Hudson was pulling out her phone and moving back towards her personal doorway. He made a move to snatch the phone from her hand, but found himself ducking away from a finger jab aimed at his ribs before he could get farther than a step. He tried again only to be forced backwards lest the potentially disabling jab to the nerve cluster in his dominant shoulder connect. Luna just stared back at him when he glared at her after retreating. The bop on the nose was completely unexpected.

"Bad Sherlock. No biscuit."

"I'm not a dog."

"You certainly have the preservation instincts of one. You're clearly _not sleeping_. When was the last time you _ate_?"

"I don't eat while I'm on a case."

"Of course," Luna agreed, far easier than John had and without the sharp assessment of Mary. It was like she understood exactly why the decision was made. Completely impossible; not even Mycroft understood. She examined his face. When her slender hand touched his cheek, he couldn't stop the subtle press into her palm. His eyes slid closed as he felt tension begin to melt from his muscles. "Do you at least stay hydrated? With something other than tea, that is—terribly un-British of me, I know, but caffeine doesn't help sensory spikes."

"I like tea," he muttered as Mrs. Hudson's violet scent grew stronger. He wanted to open his eyes, but the pounding in his head had finally begun to fade, leaving what felt like weights upon his eyelids.

"John's on his way. He said to ask for the list?"

"Mm not high," Sherlock whined. Why didn't anyone believe him? He hadn't taken anything, not since the plane. He had been _good_. There was nothing for the stupid list. Sherlock wanted to rant but a hand to match the other one was on his other cheek and the effort to do more than disgruntledly grumble was beyond him. Dimly, he was aware of being guided somewhere but the growing lassitude prevented him from extrapolating where. The last thing he knew was the sickening swoop of pitching forward into free fall. He never felt the impact.

Arguing woke him some time later. For a moment, he couldn't understand why he was staring at a paisley pattern. Paisley wasn't right. All his bedding was shades of blue or cream. He hated patterns. They annoyed him. Solid colors were better. The texture had a nubby feel, like cotton that had been washed too many times. At least the smell was correct. He must be in Mrs. Hudson's guest room then. But that didn't explain the arguing, not when her voice wasn't one of them.

Sherlock forced himself out of the bed at the recognition of John's voice. Something was just as wrong as the bed if John was angry enough to roar. It took a lot to make him lose his temper. His legs didn't want to cooperate at first but it was nothing that the adrenaline flooding his system wasn't fixing. He still had to catch himself on the doorframe to avoid face-planting on the kitchen floor. The thud brought the quarrelers' attention to him.

"Will you please tell this overprotective badger-ass all the _terrible_ secrets that I'm clearly hiding so that this conversation can _finally end_? I need to finish unpacking."

"She traveled extensively abroad but for business not pleasure. She is accustomed to combat with highly dangerous adversaries, not all of which are humanoid. Most likely a field scientist of some kind, quite possibly zoologist. Her knowledge of the body is extensive and she is capable of utilizing that knowledge to aid her fighting skills, without broadcasting her moves until that moment. She's fully capable with knives but favors a double-sided blade that is no longer than a handslength. She's financially secure but prefers to live modestly, possibly for the anonymity but more likely for the comfort of a close friend with children. She's going to be a horrible nag about boring things and terribly insistent on transport maintenance. And finally, she is not an idiot and Mrs. Hudson already trusts her."

"Well, I like her," Mary announced in the silence. "Another set of hands keeping you boys out of trouble is always appreciated. Welcome to Baker Street, Ms. Lovegood."


	7. Sliding into Place

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

 **Warnings:** This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers.

 **Author's Note(s):** This piece was written for a challenge in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft  & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments) on the FFN forum.

 **The Challenge Information** :  
 **House** : Gryffindor  
 **Subject [Task No.]** : Career Advice (Unpopular Careers) [Task 01: Entering a Career]  
 **Prompt(s)** : Wandmaker  
 **Note(s)** : Extra Credit (Harry as a Wandmaker); Early Credit (within first week of Assignment)  
 **Word Count** : 702

-= LP =-

Sliding into Place

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"Sometimes it's the smallest decisions that can change your life forever." – Keri Russell

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Everyone expected him to become an Auror or the like. Harry thought he understood why. He had been the one to tell Professor McGonagall that he was only good at two things: Quidditch and Defense. That only left quidditch star or somewhere in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. With his personal history as the Boy-Who-Lived, it really was just a matter of course to shunt him towards the Aurors. After the row between McGonagall and Umbridge, Harry almost went along with it for the combination of not disappointing McGonagall and thumbing his nose at Umbridge. It would have been easier, requiring no explanation and garnering no sighs of disappointment from various people.

Like many things in his life, Harry's journey to where he was now started with him overhearing something that made him investigate. This particular case was two harried witches complaining about the unpredictable shop hours being kept by Ollivander's wand shop. At loose ends since the rebuilding of Hogwarts had been completed and already in Diagon Alley for something else, Harry had simply added a quick check-in on the old wandmaker to his itinerary. That one trip became a daily visit.

It didn't take long before Harry was lending Garrick a hand around the shop, both in the front and in the back. They needed to make trips occasionally—for supplies and surprisingly a conference of sorts for wandmakers. Harry followed after the aging wizard, having no problem being no more than a gopher at first. It was actually nice to not be expected to solve every problem on his own without necessary information. Garrick loved to talk about the wands he made, and each one was discussed like it was a child. Harry could see why he remembered every wand he ever sold—after all, parents didn't forget their children.

Harry couldn't pinpoint the moment he had decided to become a wandmaker. It never felt like a decision. He slid into it like a comfortable dressing gown at the end of a long day. He didn't have to fight anything aside from peevish bowtruckles and his knack with soothing creatures brought in a slew of new core potentials. Harry loved it; and he loved watching the wands pick their partners. It was everything he thought magic was going to be back when he was a firstie trailing behind Hagrid.

A year after the Final Battle, Harry's life had fallen into a pattern. He studied wand lore and craft under Garrick Ollivander during most of the week. Every Friday night he went to at least one pub with Neville and whoever they could gather of the former DA. If Luna was in town (an increasingly rare thing as she progressed through her magizoology studies from book work to the field), then Saturday was spent having an adventure somewhere in the Isles. Sunday meant brunch at the Weasleys and dinner at Andromeda's with her and Teddy.

It wasn't the life people imagined for him—fast-tracking through the DMLE, and maybe a youngest department head title to match his youngest seeker in a century one. It wasn't falling into a relationship with Ginny, carrying on the image legacy of his parents and buying a family in the process. (It had taken an embarrassingly long while, but Harry understood eventually that he was welcomed without dating a Weasley.) Harry had no interest in fighting anymore, not when Garrick had showed him another way to save people. His wands were already going out into the world to do wondrous things. It may not be what people had expected, but it was a good life to have.

"Are you happy, Harry?" Hermione asked one day when they had each found a quiet moment during the chaos of a Weasley brunch. Her brown eyes were anxiously searching his face like she usually did when worried that he would run off to pick a fight with Malfoy or Snape. Harry gave her a reassuring smile that didn't feel hollow like it had those last few years at Hogwarts.

"Yeah, actually," he returned, meaning it with more of himself than he thought he ever could. "It's like coming home after being lost. I'm brilliant, Hermione, simply brilliant."


	8. Raven & Snake

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

 **Warnings:** This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers. This story makes reference to the circumstances of Arthur's conception in questionable light. There are also the implied deaths of children. As always, please take your personal sensitivities into consideration before and while reading.

 **Author's Note (01):** This story makes reference to a portion of Arthurian Lore that is often viewed as contentious. For the purpose of clarification, I have elected to use the version of the story where Merlin gave Uther the appearance of Gorlois (Igraine's husband) which Uther then used to bed Igraine, leading to the conception of Arthur. After successfully managing to slay Gorlois, Uther then took Igraine as his queen.

 **Author's Note (02):** Words that may interest y'all: _màthair_ (mother); _athair_ (father); _caileag_ (daughter); Caledonia (the old Roman name for the Scottish Highlands)

 **Author's Note (03):** This piece was written for a challenge in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft  & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments) on the FFN forum.

 **The Challenge Information** :  
 **House** : Gryffindor  
 **Subject [Task No.]** : History (Merlin & Morgana) [Task 02: Merlin's First Encounter with either Arthur or Morgana]  
 **Prompt[s]** : Betrayal [word]; Fear [word]; Blood [word]; Emerald Green [color]  
 **Word Count** : 1744

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 _Raven & Snake_

A Meeting

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"Needless to say, urgings by ravens are ignored at one's peril." – James D. Ross

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"Will you tell me the tale again, _màthair_? Just once more," begged the child resting against her side. Igraine smiled down at Morgana, her precious reminder of her beloved husband. The stolen queen ran her fingers through the girl's dark locks, still worn loose in the freedom of childhood. Soon (too soon for her heart), her daughter would need to begin plaiting and coiling the length of black silk, but not this afternoon. This afternoon was allowed to be peacefully golden.

"You say that every time, my love," Igraine replied, "but I can deny you nothing that is so easily within my power to give. Once there was a mighty king known to all as Gorlois the Kind. He ruled over Cornwall with both wisdom and might. There came a man who coveted what Gorlois held dear, not just his holdings but also his most loved treasure of all. Uther the Pendragon laid siege to Tintagel, demanding Gorlois lay down arms and turn over the wife crafted for him by the Gods. Unable to bear the idea of betraying his beloved any more than he could willingly carve the heart from his breast, the king refused and vowed to never let Uther lay even a single finger upon her."

"Did he really love his wife so much?"

"Oh, so very much, _caileag_ ," Igraine replied, tucking a strand of hair behind Morgana's ear. "Not all men are brutes who take what should only be given. Never doubt that you and your sisters were born of a love that would defy the kingdoms of Man."

"Do you think I'll ever find someone that will love me as _athair_ loved you?"

"No mortal can know the will of the Gods, but I have faith that you will someday. They would not have blessed you so without some plan. Anything less would be a betrayal of Their own oaths."

"The Father does not believe as you do."

"Men are foolish creatures, my little faery," Igraine declared. She tapped her daughter's nose. "That is why the Gods crafted women—so there would be someone to listen to Their wisdom. It does not matter if men are fools so long as there are women to carry magic into the world."

"But _màthair_ , there are also men who carry magic! Like the one who aided the Pendragon!"

"The Ways of Magic do not always make sense to mortal reasoning. You must remember that always, my love. We are limited by the bounds of time, always existing as a blink of the eye to Magic's eternity. Magic is a god unto Itself, flowing through all of Creation and Entropy. To know It fully is to know both sides of Its essence, to embrace Death as readily as one does Life. Many would fear such a person and none would understand her."

"Do you think it would be as lonely as living here?"

Igraine looked around their small garden. They were mostly alone in this small cottage at the outskirts of the village, far away from the fighting of Londinium that had followed in the wake of Uther's untimely death. Caledonia was colder than the home she had shared with Gorlois in Cornwall. The winters were longer here and the days shorter. Already, the Lady had reclaimed two of the daughters she had borne for her honorable husband. It may have been a punishment for abandoning the child Uther had put in her womb, but as she had just told her remaining precious one, a mortal could not know the wills of the Gods. They were safe here, protected, even from priests too outspoken for their own good. No one knew them as Uther's Stolen Queen and the forgotten princess of a fallen king. Their isolation kept them safe from those who would use them, either for political or military power. It kept them hidden from those who would avenge Uther.

"Are you so unhappy, my little bird?"

The girl wrapped her arms around Igraine's waist and tucked her head against the curve of her breast as she had not in the last few years. Igraine returned the embrace as a sense of foreboding settled around her like a cloak. The golden afternoon from before now had a dark cast to it. The shadows were dark and long. As if sensing the same thing, Morgana pressed her nose into Igraine's bodice and breathed deeply.

"I will always be happy as long you are with me, _màthair_."

"Then I will always be near, my dearest one," Igraine promised, whispering the words into the curls resting on Morgana's brow, "even if I cannot always be seen with the eyes."

"Such touching lies you share, Lady Cornwall. Did you whisper such sweet words to your king before you sank the dagger into his heart?"

Igraine raised her head without rushing. The next few moments would need careful handling. Giving into the recklessness urged by the fear now filling her would see all that she had salvaged from those dark days after the fall of Tintagel destroyed like her life before that point. The warlock standing at her garden gate oozed confidence. She knew that he had every right to that confidence, having seen him in battle alongside Uther. Merlin Ambrosius was a formidable combatant known for being just as merciless as the false king he had served. Igraine shivered when she saw that while his words were directed at herself, his gaze rested upon Morgana.

"So this is the child that is being whispered about? She's not much, is she?"

"You are not what I envisioned either," Morgana countered as she pulled away from Igraine. The girl stood as tall as any child who had only seen ten winters could. It was nothing compared to the living legend before them. She was barely taller than Igraine was sitting. Yet she raised her chin defiantly at the battle-wizard. "I find myself sick with the knowledge that such a monster as yourself should look like a man."

"You amuse me, foolish child. You accuse me of monstrosity while clinging to that murderess behind you. It merely shows that children know nothing of monsters."

"I know more than you would like, _Emrys_."

The shadows at the edge of the garden grew deeper still. The summer sun seemed hidden by clouds, making the air colder. Power rippled the air as the two magi challenged each other. Igraine knew that she would never be able to keep pace with them if it came to a battle. Even if her skill did not lay in the art of healing, Igraine's reserves were meager compared to the overspill coming off her child. Between one breath and the next, Igraine realized that her little faery-child could stand up to a fully-grown man who was said to be born of Magic Itself. Merlin's magic was blinding in its pure alignment; it was like looking directly at the sun at its zenith.

None of that mattered to the tiny witch staring him down like he was nothing more than an unruly cur. Shadows dripped from her dark hair and spread across the ground at her feet. Frost raced before the encroachment, intricate lacework standing in sharp relief on the emerald leaves of the clovers. Igraine wanted nothing more than to pull the girl away from the darkness as something within her rebelled instinctively. Igraine had always called her youngest daughter _faery_ for her otherworldly beauty, even going so far as to give her a name like the Phantom Queen's own. Never before this moment had Igraine had cause to truly doubt her beloved child's humanity. Even the great and powerful Merlin wavered before the dark well of magic being unleashed by the girl.

"How do you know that name?"

"Are you so arrogant as to believe that Magic speaks only to you? After you used Her to do the things you've done?"

"You do not understand the things of which you speak, child."

"What is there to misconstrue? You used Magic to hide the shape of a man so that he may take liberties with a woman who had refused him. Neither of you respected what Magic had already wrought in their hearts and souls. The Pendragon had no connection to Magic, but _you_ —" Morgana shook her head, making her wild curls flop around her. Her tone was far too tired for her youth. Igraine regretted the part she played in creating that tone, having dreaded it even more than the impending need for braids and buns. "Magic is your _Mother_ , even beyond granting you Her gift. How do you manage to not weep until your tears turn crimson with blood?"

"You are a child—"

"And yet I know better than a man who has lived my years five times over."

"Control your child, Igraine!"

"Do not dare to speak to her," Morgana hissed. Igraine could only sit frozen under the combined weight of their magical presences as they fought without movement or active spells. Magic in its purest form thickened the air, choking her. The only thing keeping her from crumbling under the pressure was strength of will imbued in her by her oaths to serve Britannia. Queen, stolen, fallen, or false, Igraine was just a simple healer when it came to wielding her gift. This was not a battlefield upon which she belonged, even if it was shameful to let her child stand as a shield. "Never speak another word to her, Emrys, son of Adhan."

"She murdered the king!"

"No," Morgana denied. "She killed an imposter and a thief, a man who styled himself an emperor and thought himself wiser than the Gods. Besides which, death is inevitable and death by the hand of one's victim is _justice_ , not murder, regardless of rank or power. Leave my home, Merlin, before I make that a command as well."

"I will be back," Merlin vowed as he backed out of the garden he had not truly entered. The shadows surrounding Morgana rippled with amusement. The freezing air relaxed into refreshing coolness.

"Of that I have no doubt," the girl agreed. She raised her left hand and gave the fingers a mocking wiggle. "You will not find what you seek, for Magic has hidden it Herself, but feel free to try. Everyone is allowed to be foolish occasionally, even great and powerful warlocks."

"I will make you pay!"

"I do not doubt that either."


	9. Destiny Makes No Mistakes

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

 **Warnings:** This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers.

 **Author's Note(s):** This piece was written for a challenge in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft  & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments) on the FFN forum.  
 **The Challenge Information** :  
 **House** : Gryffindor  
 **Claimed Pairing:** Lunar Heroes (Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood/Harry Potter)  
 **Day 09:** Red String of Fate  
 **Extra Prompt[s]** : n/a  
 **Word Count** : 548

-= LP =-

Destiny Makes No Mistakes

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"The future is forgiven, so smile." – Mikky Ekko, _Smile_

-= LP =-

Harry loved the strings, even knowing that no one else could see them. That's how it worked—you only got to see your own string, your own tie to your soulmate. No one else got to see it. It was private, belonging only to those which Fate had tied together. He thought of that often, that they belong to only _him_. He would idle away the lonely hours he was locked in his cupboard weaving the two threads between his fingers.

They were _his_ , not borrowed or stolen from someone else. Somewhere out there was two people who would love him unconditionally. It wouldn't matter if he burned the bacon or left a fingerprint on the silver. The weird things that happened around him wouldn't put them off. There was no way for the Dursleys to chase them away. Destiny made no mistakes, not even when it gave him two soulmates instead of just one.

He loved the strings.

He loved his soulmates even more.

Meeting Neville and then Luna was the best and brightest thing in his messed up life. Other people never quite understood their bond and how it worked. Everyone seemed to expect them to be jealous of each other, but how could they be? No one was excluded. Neville loving Luna didn't make him love Harry any _less_. Loving Luna's bubbly irrelevances didn't make Harry _not_ appreciate Neville's calm support. They weren't three people each with two relationships.

There was only one relationship, and it was _theirs_.

It wasn't like they were even the only triad that Destiny had ever made, or even just made this generation. Arthur would be nothing without his Lancelot and Guinevere, though the muggles always messed up that part of the story. Ginny was quick to hex anyone who dared to suggest there was something wrong with her relationship with Dean and Seamus. The Weasley daughter took it as a point of pride when Pomfrey had problems unravelling her spellwork and Dean would quietly tut about the hexing, Seamus had no problems laughing outright at whichever idiot drew his lover's ire.

Destiny made no mistakes.

-= LP =-

"Harry Potter," Voldemort said, his tone as soft as Neville's smile when Harry caught him watching Luna singing as she worked on homework. Neville would take care of Nagini—if for no other reason than Harry had asked before slipping away. He had been so suspicious that Harry had been certain that he wasn't going to be able to do what needed to be done. Voldemort's triumphant laugh drew Harry's attention away from his soulmates. "The Boy-Who-Lived has come to die. Poetic, isn't it?"

The Death Eaters around them were surprisingly still, waiting—trembling on the edge of a moment. Everything seemed to be frozen as if the entire world was collectively holding its breath as Voldemort raised the knobby length of the Elder Wand. He cocked his head to the side, silently questioning Harry's resolve. Harry twisted the strings around his fingers, made braver and stronger by the small connection to Neville and Luna. This was necessary to protect them—to save the most precious things which Destiny had given him.

As his vision filled with the green light, Harry was left with just one thought.

Destiny made no mistakes.


	10. More for Less

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

 **Warnings:** This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers.

 **Author's Note(s):** This piece was written for a challenge in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft  & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments) on the FFN forum.  
 **The Challenge Information** :  
 **House** : Gryffindor  
 **Subject [Task No.]** : Muggle Art (Minimalism)  
 **Prompt[s]** : Task No. 02 (A character successful by doing less than required)  
 **Word Count** : 634

-= LP =-

More for Less

-= LP =-

"I've been building up all these kingdoms for so long … It's good to be king, like a conqueror."

– Zayde Wølf, _King_

-= LP =-

Albus Dumbledore was many things. Some of them people knew and many of them they didn't. Some of those things were clever distractions made possible only because no one bothered to verify the information or backtrack a rumor to its source. Much of what was attributed to him was carefully exaggerated so that he could modestly deny them.

It was the best idea that Albus had ever had.

Back when he was freshly graduated from Hogwarts, he had had such grand plans. He was going to take the world by storm. Gellert was going to be by his side the entire way. It was tragic how he lost both his love and his sister in the same day.

It also changed everything.

Albus began to understand the value of the gossip mill. By the end of the week, Godric's Hollow was completely convinced that he and Aberforth had dueled over Ariana's grave. Mrs. Bagshot, _who had been there_ , even reported that in the village newsletter as a juicy fact. Just to test his theory, Albus discreetly started a few rumors about his prowess with transfiguration. Soon he was considered a master by the masses.

It would be wrong to use this knowledge for political power.

It would be a lie.

He would be a fool to pass up the opportunity.

Albus Dumbledore was not a fool.

He did defeat Gellert, but it was not the grand battle everyone assumed with magnificent displays of magical power and skillful prowess. It had been so easy to spread that rumor…almost as easy as it had been to lull Gellert into believing that Albus had been there to join forces with him. An unexpected stunner later netted Albus a defeated Dark Lord and a very special wand.

Riding the tide of good publicity got him a seat on Wizengamot in addition to his professorship at Hogwarts. It may seem like it would take a lot of effort to do both, especially once he became Headmaster, but given that he just voted as the majority did, he could cross reading the bills off his list of things to do. A few rumors stopped most people's worrying over his political leanings.

Keeping Binns on as the professor for History of Magic was genius. It made the students grow weary at the thought of research into the past and it saved him the effort necessary to find a suitable living replacement that wasn't reliving the same tedious school year on repeat. After a few generation, he could speak of the needing to honor the tradition of having a ghost teach the subject.

As more people graduated from the school he controlled, his power-base only grew larger. Each passing generation _knew_ him, seeing him as the eccentric grandfather-like figure sharing their meals. They grew up hearing about his greatness and power, his humbleness and goodness. Albus was familiar to them; he was trusted. For minimum effort, he gained _followers_ , ensuring that anyone speaking about him in a negative light would be shot down before the truth could gain any traction.

Soon Albus Dumbledore was firmly entrenched in the upper echelon of magical Britain. He was the most powerful person in the country, without the inevitable wane that could have happened if he had given into the demands for him to become Minister of Magic. He was perfectly happy becoming best friends with each successive Minister—and letting have both the work and the ire of the people of that went along with the position.

Now he just had to keep people from trying to send him after Voldemort.

Tom really did need to learn how to minimalize. The way the boy was going about this was making more work for everyone else. He would burn himself out if he kept it up.


	11. Black Abjurations

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

 **Warnings:** This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers.

 **Author's Note(s):** This piece was written for a challenge in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft  & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments) on the FFN forum.  
 **The Challenge Information** :  
 **House** : Gryffindor  
 **Claimed Pairing:** Lunar Heroes (Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood/Harry Potter)  
 **Day 11:** Blood Ritual/Rite to Reveal Soulmate  
 **Extra Prompt[s]** : n/a  
 **Word Count** : 733

-= LP =-

Black Abjurations

-= LP =-

"Tripping in the world could be dangerous/Everybody circling/It's vulturous."

– Imagine Dragon, _Whatever It Takes_

-= LP =-

The book was bound in dark brown leather. Harry would have expected it to be black, given what it was. That made sense, right? The Black Grimoire should be black. It was fitting, as it was certain to be full of dark magic that could only be used to kill or maim muggles.

He couldn't have _been_ more wrong.

There was a lot of deadly and violent magic. That hadn't been the mistake Harry had made. It was the purpose that had him shifting his opinion of the whole damn Black family. Those spells could easily kill and the number of ways they had come up with for destroying the human body was creepily impressive. Yet every single one of them had the same purpose.

 _Protection_.

Harry had spent a long moment unable to breathe when he found the single spell that wasn't solely an abjuration. It still served as a protection—a long term ward against harm—but the side effect was what held his attention. It would cast a subtle shield over the person revealed by the spell, protecting against spells cast upon them by siphoning the magic into said person's magical core. But the caster had no choice in who was revealed, for the revealed person would always be the caster's soulmate, that one person who was the caster's perfect complement.

The spell was tempting. Harry traced the complicated lettering detailing the ritual as he thought about his doubts about getting back with Ginny—who pushed and demanded and still looked at him like he was her hero for just existing. He didn't think she would be his soulmate, but she was the only person who was pursuing him. He could be happy with her and he would finally be a part of a family. If the spell showed him Ginny, he would finally be free of that last wiggly doubt, and Molly would never have to worry about losing her youngest child, her precious daughter.

The rite was surprisingly simple and Harry already had everything. He just had to wait until the few days it would take for the moon to disappear. The sage, cedar, and mugwort caught fire easily in the small stone bowl required. The flames made the amethyst glow. With the silver knife from his potions kit, Harry sliced his left index finger.

One drop gleamed in the firelight as it fell.

 _Blessed Mother Whose Gift is carried with in us_.

The second and third drops appeared to be chasing each other.

 _Grant me a vision of the one I seek, for I long so much that I grow weak._

The fourth clung to him, reluncant to part. Harry gave his hand a little shake and watched as it fell.

 _Protect them, O Mother, with the very thing which seeks their suffering_.

The fifth and final drop landed with a sizzle as it was immediately devoured by the flames.

Harry held his breath as a dark tendril rose like smoke from the burning herbs. It twisted as it grew before breaking into two as it began to take a human-like shape. He tried not to be shocked that there were two figures dancing amid the flames. It wasn't surprising, not really. Of course, those two were complements of each other. Luna had a tendency to push boundaries without even thinking about it; it was often like the boundary just didn't exist for the Ravenclaw. On the other hand, Neville was always aware of people's expectations, of him and of others; he was capable of figuring out what people needed within moments. They balanced each other.

What surprised Harry was that they were _his_ balance as well.

He watched the little pair of smoke-figures dance until they spun away from each other to race off in different directions. They would seek out the person they resembled and sink the abjuration into their magical core, starting the protection of the spell. Harry was smiling as he carefully disposed of his supplies and cleansed his tools.

He was already plotting how he would go about wooing the pair, both separately and together. Maybe it was the magic that had bound him to his now-dead godfather, but Harry was feeling a certain amount of ruthlessness about the pair safe and happy know that he knew how important they were to him.

He was going to love them, whatever it took.


	12. Realizations at the Close

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

 **Warnings:** This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers.

 **Author's Note(s):** This piece was written for a challenge in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft  & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments) on the FFN forum.  
 **The Challenge Information** :  
 **House** : Gryffindor  
 **Claimed Pairing:** Lunar Heroes (Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood/Harry Potter)  
 **Day 12:** A Place & Time are written upon your body  
 **Extra Prompt[s]** : n/a  
 **Word Count** : 1748

-= LP =-

Realizations at the Close

-= LP =-  
 _Though not the promised land,  
Nor any perfect plan,  
Along our neutral path  
There was a single lowered branch._

–Sleeping at Last, "Resolve"

-= LP =-

No one really understood the words.

They were different for everyone and they _meant_ something different things for everyone. The only commonality seemed to be the words were always a place of some sort and some reference to a time. The format was not standard—some people had easily recognizable places like a city or pub but others had more vague things like _school_ or _work_ or _home_. Some people had exact digital times with indication of evening or morning; others had _morning_ or _twilight_ or _moonrise_. If that wasn't frustrating enough, the event in question seemed to change as well. Some people died or gave birth (sometimes, it wasn't even their first or last child); others created something revolutionary or met their childhood hero. A startling amount met their best friend or their future spouse.

But no one really understood the words. They just were.

The words were still considered private things, even if they were sometimes used as bragging points like Dudley's _Buckingham Palace_ and _Tea_. Aunt Petunia made Harry cover his, even if his words made less sense than others he had seen. What kind of place was _The Close_? And even _Sunrise_ was kind of vague, because that varied greatly from month to month while _Tea_ was typically the same time for an individual person. Harry still wondered about his words—why were they important? What would happen that the Universe wanted him to know was coming to the point that it choose _those_ words for him?

That was the thing, wasn't it? The words would only make sense in retrospect. It was only ever in looking back that one could see what must have always been there. It was inevitable, like gravity will always pull inward towards a center and the sun would rise every morning. Not really Fate, or Destiny, or Karma—just _reality_ , just the way things _were_.

It was like Harry was _not normal_ , a freak. It wasn't because he was a wizard, either. If it was just that, then Harry wouldn't be different from the other wizards and witches who also had magic. It was just the way that Harry was—he was _different_ , broken, probably defective even.

Everyone around him seemed to be wanting to do— _something_ , he wasn't really sure what—with each other, especially as they all grew older. Meanwhile, Harry was just uncomfortably aware that he didn't fit and there was a creepy madman after his death. He could look at someone and tell if they were pretty or handsome easily enough but whatever was driving Ron to suck face with Lavender every second they had free or had Ginny wanting to yank boys into broom closets?

That just wasn't there for him and the awareness of it prickled along his skin sometimes.

He wished he had the same blasé opinion about his oddity that Luna displayed. Even as she and Neville seemed to be drifting into a more reserved version of whatever was going on with Ron and Lavender, Luna had no problem spending time with _him_ and despite the fact that Harry didn't always understand what she said or why, Luna was never self-conscious about any of it. He could definitely see what Neville saw in her—she had this air about her that just…it wasn't a _pull_ , and it was nothing like falling or sliding. It was like the sun coming out from clouds on a rainy day, warm and peaceful. He could see that Neville enjoyed it just as much, thriving in it like one of his plants.

Harry didn't understand why Luna was crying when he found her a few days after the quidditch match. He supposed that he didn't need to, not when he understood the glare that Neville was aiming at him as he comforted his girlfriend. He had always known that there was only ever a set amount of him that people could put up with—and Ginny _had just_ explained that maybe Neville and Luna wouldn't want Harry intruding on their private time so much. So he backed off, even if he missed the quiet cuddles and soft conversations about anything that popped into any of their heads—even when Ginny's insistence on dragging Harry into broom closets and doing _stuff_ made him want to claw his skin off sometimes.

It wasn't anything specific, not good or bad.

It just _was_.

That stupid snitch with its stupid words taunted him for months. Dumbledore may or may not have known the effect his phrasing would have, but Harry couldn't help that he hated the little toy at the same time he clenched at it, refusing to risk losing it. It wasn't until he was walking to meet Voldemort that it all hit him. _I open at the close_. Harry took a moment to kick himself before he whispered the secret of his impending death to the ball, which promptly fell apart to reveal the last Hallow. As the first traces of dawn began to lighten the skin, Harry spun the stone three time.

"I don't know how, but you're even stupider than your father," Lily snapped at him the moment she appeared. "Scratch that—I know exactly how, and I'm going to make her pay the moment I can get my hands on her. Harry James Potter, light of my life—If you walk into that clearing, and willfully negate every action I had ever taken to protect you, so help me I will find a way to turn you over my knee!"

"Mum—"

"Don't you 'mum' me, mister! No, don't try to hush me, James," Lily continued, batting at the ghostly figure that was now trying to soothe his agitated wife. To either side of them, Remus and Sirius watched as if the pair was the most fascinating show they had ever seen. "I'm his mother. I'm allowed to scold him when he's acting like he doesn't have half the brains I know for a fact that he has! He believes that—that—that _monster_ who openly admitted to plotting his death after setting him up an abusive household! I can't let this continue!"

"Lily-flower, my precious one, maybe he'll understand better if he wasn't being called names or berated?"

"No use, Prongs, you know how she is when she gets into a snit," Sirius snarked unhelpfully. "You should know by now that's she's a typical ginger."

"And what is that supposed to mean, Sirius Black?" Lily asked in a dangerous tone. Sirius gave her a smile that would have been better at home on Snuffles' face than the human one.

"Fiery temper and no soul, of course."

"What your mother is trying to say," Remus interrupted before the two could go at each other, "is that you're not really a Horcrux because they are never made by accident. She is also very upset about your apparent willingness to toss away your life which is something that has been building for quite some time as she's a bit obsessive about watching over you."

"I'm not obsessive. I'm his mother."

"…how obsessive are we talking about?"

"Enough that to want to strangle that little brat—"

"It's not that—"

"Yes, it was, James! It really was! And if you try that stupid line one more time, I will be a widow twice over!"

"Um, not to interrupt or anything, but I really have no clue what you guys are talking about and I'm kind of on a tight schedule."

"Harry, my darling boy, Dumbledore is lying out of his arse about why you're connected to Voldemort and how to end that connection. So there's no need to turn yourself over and every reason to march right back to the people who love you more than you can imagine, neither of which is that harridan who has absolutely no respect for your personal boundaries. Your Luna and Neville will be far better at explaining this, but it is perfectly alright to tell someone 'no' if you're uncomfortable, for whatever reason, with something being done to your person."

Harry could feel his face turning red. That did answer his question from before about how much she watched him. To make matters worse, his _mother_ had apparently picked up on what his _girlfriend_ hadn't. He couldn't very well turn himself over to Voldemort now—not when he'd spent his afterlife with his mother who had seen him making out with his girlfriend. This could not be happening.

"Is it possible to die from embarrassment?"

"Not in my experience," Remus stated baldly. "I'd say that Sirius gave it a good shot, but since he's absolutely shameless and always has been, I'd be forced to wager that he's never truly felt that level of embarrassment. Now do us all a favor, and return to the castle. Find Luna—because she's probably your safer bet once Neville figures out that you _lied outright_ to him about this harebrained scheme. Tell her to remember Dione's last advice. She'll understand and can explain things—probably without the arguing that these three are prone to doing when they get together."

"And Harry?" his mother asked. She wasn't glaring when he turned to look at her this time. Her face had a soft loving expression this time. "It's _sunrise_."

He blinked as the quartet faded into nothing. It all crashed over him, a wave that threatened to drown him and just as surprising as his mother's immediate ire. Everything in his life had led to this moment. No one ever understood the word—just that they were important.

Apparently, Harry James Potter was important enough that the entire universe wanted him to realize the moment that he had to choose between life and death, between the duty to protect and the duty to sacrifice himself. He was at _The Close_ and it was _Sunrise_. He looked at the path before him, leading into the darkness with its waiting Dark Lord. He took a single step before Luna's eyes staring at him from the shadows of the Malfoy dungeons flashed through his face. She had looked so broken to see him as a prisoner…how would his death affect her?

He was running back to the castle before he could think—back to Luna, and to Neville who would probably slug him and refuse to let him go. The leading edge of the dawn proceeded him, as if the love he now acknowledged was shining from him.


	13. An Oncoming Dream

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

 **Warnings:** This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers.

 **Author's Note(s):** This piece was written for a challenge in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft  & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments) on the FFN forum.  
 **The Challenge Information** :  
 **House** : Gryffindor  
 **Claimed Pairing:** Lunar Heroes (Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood/Harry Potter)  
 **Day 13:** Compasses on your arms  
 **Extra Prompt[s]** : n/a  
 **Word Count** : 381

-= LP =-

An Oncoming Dream

-= LP =-

"You've got a choice. Life either goes on or it does not." ~ _What Dreams May Come_

-= LP =-

"I thought I would find you here," Hermione greeted him. Harry didn't turn towards her. His entire attention was on the horizon before him. The surf pounded at the base of the cliff, as if it felt the painful rage within his chest. His bare arms hung at his sides, pale and numb from the winter wind. The useless compasses on his arms twitched but stubbornly pointed outward to the horizon.

"Am I so predictable?"

"Only because I know you so well," Hermione replied. Harry shook his head. The world around him was so real and solid. He could touch it, feel it. Each breath that filled his lungs brought in the salty flavor of the sea and the scent of wet stone. He raised his arms and the incoming storm buffered around him, threatening— _promising_ to topple him over the edge. Hermione gasped behind him. He heard pebbles skittering as she took a step forward, as if to catch him.

"Do you really think you know me, Hermione?"

"I know that you're strong enough to get through this, Harry."

"You sound so certain."

"That's because I am certain, Harry. You will get through this. We can get you through this—"

"Oh, we can? Who's 'we', Hermione? You and Ron? Next you're going to say that you know how I feel."

"I do—"

"No, Hermione, you don't. You can't! You still have your soulmate! I lost mine—both of them! Luna and Neville are _dead_. They're not coming back!" He turned to face her and felt the pointers on his arms shift to remain facing the sea. "You say that I will get through this? There's no getting through this, Hermione. There's only one way through this—only one ending. They're gone. Do you understand that? They are gone. A thousand years can pass and they will still be gone and it will still hurt so fucking much."

"Harry—"

"They say that Fate gives us the Compass so that we can find our soulmate, so that we will never have to be alone."

"Harry—"

"All we have to do to find them is to follow where our Compass leads."

"Harry, don't—"

"Goodbye, Hermione," Harry said, before letting himself fall backwards. He was going to his loves.


	14. Fairness is Overrated

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

 **Warnings:** This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers.

 **Author's Note(s):** This piece was written for a challenge in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft  & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments) on the FFN forum.  
 **The Challenge Information** :  
 **House** : Gryffindor  
 **Claimed Pairing:** Lunar Heroes (Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood/Harry Potter)  
 **Day 15:** Touch Reveals Your Soulmate  
 **Extra Prompt[s]** : n/a  
 **Word Count** : 717

Tagging Information:

 **Fandom Tag(s):** Harry Potter – JK Rowling

 **Relationship Tag(s):** Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood/Harry Potter

 **Character Tag(s):**

 **Additional Tag(s):**

-= LP =-

Fairness is Overrated

-= LP =-

"Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple." – Dr. Seuss

-= LP =-

Harry knew early on that life was not fair.

That reason for his life with the Dursleys was easier for him to accept than the possibility that he had somehow _deserved_ their treatment.

But life wasn't fair—which explained why he was always the one who lost out on things.

Harry didn't mind the murderous villains who sought to make a name for themselves by taking out the Man-Who-Conquered where Voldemort couldn't. He didn't mind pressure to join the Auror Corps. Both things gave me something to do with his time.

He had a lot of it now that Ginny had found her soulmate…in someone else.

He was alone, but that was more than fine.

Alone protected him. Alone meant that there was no one to hurt him.

He could ignore the pinching ache that came from watching his friends pair up—each set finding their impossible contentment in another person. The person made just for them…found through a brush of skin upon skin.

Life wasn't fair.

It was okay, though, because Harry had accepted that years ago.

Sometimes it was just a little bit hard to remember that.

So he spent his time fighting dark wizards and doing paperwork while steadfastly ignoring the increasingly popular column dedicated to speculation about his non-existent love life. If there was anything Harry was good at besides fighting dark wizards, it was completely ignoring uncomfortable subjects.

Which is probably why he didn't notice that his partner had managed to meet his own soulmate until after the pair had been dating for three months. Neville had looked so confused when Harry had mentioned that Luna seemed to be visiting a lot. _That_ had been an awkward conversation that Harry had been glad to finish.

Even if it meant that in addition to be alone, Harry was now faced with the startling realization that he was the only one of his immediate group of friends who _was_ , as the others had all successfully met their _other half_.

Maybe that was it. Maybe Harry was already whole and that's why he hadn't met his soulmate yet. All he had to do to believe that was ignore what felt like a gaping hole inside him.

It wasn't a dark wizard but he could work with it.

He had never expected to find them walking down Diagon Alley during the School Shopping frenzy days. Harry had only meant to pick up something he was giving Neville for his birthday but the crowds were out thick. It was fairly ridiculous for the couple to be twirling through the crowd like that, no matter how happy their laughter sounded. When they bumped into him, Harry had grumbled half-heartedly only to freeze when the woman's hand had braced against his bare arm to balance herself. She gasped at the current going through them—because surely she had to feel the soulbond flaring into existence.

"Luna?"

Harry's gaze snapped to Neville, still standing close—which, of course he was, because his hands were still on his girlfriend's waist where he had been holding her as they spun in their laughing twirl. Harry dropped his eyes to the hand still gripping his arm and followed it with increasing dread to the familiar blonde to whom it belonged. Harry felt something dig into that spot inside which had just begun to sing with unbridled happiness and squeeze. Of course it wasn't really his soulmate—Luna was already Neville's, so something must have gone wrong.

It was okay—he knew life wasn't fair.

This would hurt less in time.

Maybe eventually, it wouldn't even hurt at all.

Unlikely, but a guy could pretend, right?

Then Neville covered Luna's fingers which still hadn't let go and his palm brushed again Harry's arm.

And there was another flare of bright magic bonding another soul to his.

"Oh, my god," Harry whimpered at the intensity. Neville groaned in agreement. But Luna? She did the unpredictable as usual and _laughed_.

"Silly Harry, we're not gods," she told him between giggles. "We're just ," she told him between giggles. "We're just _yours_." She pulled him closer so that he was between the pair of them. Harry buried his face in her fine hair.

"I could get used to that."

Life wasn't fair—but sometimes it was _better_.


	15. Don't Shake

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

 **Warnings:** This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers.

 **Author's Note(s):** This piece was written for a challenge in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft  & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments) on the FFN forum.  
 **The Challenge Information** :  
 **House** : Gryffindor  
 **Claimed Pairing:** Lunar Heroes (Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood/Harry Potter)  
 **Day 16:** Soulmates Share Talents  
 **Extra Prompt[s]** : Freeze  
 **Word Count** : 731

-= LP =-

Don't Shake

-= LP =-

"I'm calm. I'm sure of it. I don't shake because I'm never even rattled."

– Marianas Trench, _This Means War_

-= LP =-

"Leave him alone!"

Harry didn't know why he thought it would work. Shouting at an already agitated snake couldn't possibly help the situation any. He just saw the snake focused on the boy in the Hufflepuff robes—maybe his name was Justin?—and he just acted without thinking, without weighing the possible reactions. All movement in the room froze as the snake slumped out of its raised pose. Crouching close to the floor, Harry reached out to it and wiggled his fingers. The black snake made a beeline for him, immediately coiling around his forearm before turn its gaze back at the trembling students.

"Mr. Potter," Professor Snape said and Harry blinked at his odd tone, "is it safe to approach?"

"Uh, yes, sir," Harry answered after a glance around the room. A lot of the faces were hostile, even Ron's face. Hermione looked a bit like she had just found a new 'bit of light reading'. The look on Neville's face had something twisting in Harry, like the snake on his arm. Not understanding any of it, Harry focused on the Potions Professor cautiously nearing him. The snake tightened around Harry's arm and gave a threatening hiss that made Snape freeze. Harry pulled his arm and its occupant against his chest protectively, using his other arm to pet the snake's scales soothingly. "He's not going to hurt us."

"Mr. Potter, I would really like to know what you are telling your new friend," Snape said, again with that odd tone to his voice. Harry blinked at him again as he turned over the possibilities in his mind. Was Snape being _polite_? To _him_?

"S-sir, Harry only said that you wouldn't hurt them," Neville said. Neville had come up to stand beside Harry's crouching form and though he was trembling being the focus of Snape's carefully restrained attention, he still looked like the boy who had been willing to fight them at the end of last year. Snape closed his eyes and appeared to be counting under his breath. Neville placed his hand on Harry's shoulder, giving the bony joint a gentle squeeze. The snake uncoiled enough to scent Neville's fingertips, but she didn't seem as aggressive towards the boy as she had been against Snape.

"He did, sir!" called out a blonde in Ravenclaw robes. She had just finished wiggling through a group of Hufflepuff third years and was now skipping across the cleared space. She was definitely small enough to be a first year…Harry swallowed the groan that wanted to escape when he realized that she was slightly larger than he was. Was everyone bigger than him? The girl wiggled her fingers at the snake, giggling when the snake scented her fingers before giving a contented hiss. "I'm Luna, by the way, and very pleased to meet you, Harry Potter—" She tilted her head to look at Neville who was still standing guard over them. "—and Neville Longbottom. If Harry's the parselmouth, that makes you the plant catalyst, right? Have you figured out how to stop it yet? Because I'm still haven't gotten the hang of it and it's really affecting my Potions grade. Right, sir?"

Professor Snape pinched the bridge of his nose like Aunt Petunia did when she was beginning to get a headache. He was muttering something under his breath which Harry couldn't hear but that made Neville's fingers bite into his shoulder. Harry was definitely missing something. Helpful as ever, Hermione spoke up finally.

"Oh, my god! It's their Shared Talents!" she declared loudly before pressing her fists against her grinning mouth.

Harry blinked again as he processed that, having only the distance observation that he had done that a lot in the last few minutes. He had heard of the term before, of course. He knew that soulmates shared some unique talent, something innately theirs. He had just—Aunt Petunia had always said that he had no talent to be shared, not like her Dudley. Harry had never really questioned that conclusion, other than a brief thought about the possibility that _magic_ was his talent to share and how useless that would be for finding his soulmate. He turned to look at Luna's face which was surprisingly close to his. Without missing a beat, she licked his nose. Harry wrinkled his nose even as he grinned.

He could get use to this.


	16. Bending without Breaking

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

 **Warnings:** This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers.

 **Author's Note(s):** This piece was written for a challenge in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft  & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments) on the FFN forum.  
 **The Challenge Information** :  
 **House** : Gryffindor  
 **Claimed Pairing:** Lunar Heroes (Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood/Harry Potter)  
 **Day 0x:** Sharing Dreams  
 **Extra Prompt[s]** : n/a  
 **Word Count** : 1322

-= LP =-

Bending without Breaking

-= LP =-

 _Now paranoia's setting in and I'm falling from these stars again  
While every part of me screams, "hold on"  
Cause if you can't learn to bend then you break  
Oh my God, how long does it take?  
_ – Mikky Ekko, "Watch Me Rise"

-= LP =-

Harry's best relationships didn't exist.

Every night, he would dream them into being anew.

Every night, he would experience the perfection which was friendship and caring. Luna would pull him into the craziest adventures, chasing creatures which could only exist in that dream. Meanwhile, Neville would follow them, determined to keep them safe. Those were the good days—er, nights.

There were others that weren't so nice. On those nights, they would find some impossibly comfy spot and lay curled around each other like Mrs. Figg's cats. In hushed voices, they would whisper secrets to each other—how Neville loved his parents but sometimes thought that maybe it would have been better if they had died, and how Harry didn't understand what he had done that meant that the Dursleys couldn't love him. When Luna had fallen into their dreamscape the night that her mother died, they had held her tight as she wept and her emotions made the sky roll with storm clouds.

They were his best friends.

And the fact that they weren't real was killing him.

Possibly _literally_.

How long can someone straddle the line between reality and fantasy before they had to choose a side?

Just when he thought his world could not get any stranger, any more insane, he started receiving letters. They were written on _actual parchment_ and Harry was having trouble with the idea of just how many poor animals were dying just so someone could prank him into trying to go to a school for magic. He may have joked about how Dudley looked like a pig but it wasn't because he had anything against pigs. The physical impossibility of getting a dozen full-sized letters into a dozen eggs made it clear that Harry had finally lost it completely.

That he hesitated to tell his dream-friends about the craziness because he didn't want them to think poorly of him was just rubbing it in at this point. It was completely and utterly _insane_ , as in lock him up in the asylum the Dursleys were always threatening him with and throw away the key. An orphanage would be too much of a risk at this point. Crazy people were dangerous people.

Seeing Diagon Alley for the first time made him tremble inside where no one could see. It took only a moment to slip away from Hagrid at the bookstore—and barely any effort to then find the section on magical creatures who had familiar names. He recognize the names of plants as well—Neville did occasionally help sculpt their adventures beyond keeping them safe from marauding dream-creatures. He didn't want to ask—didn't dare—but how could he leave without knowing for sure?

Neville would ask.

Luna would, too.

He really couldn't do any less and still be worthy of their friendship.

"Excuse me?" Harry asked the teenager stocking shelves. "Are there any books on—It's stupid, I know—but are there any books about sharing dreams with other people?"

"You're muggleborn, aren't you?" the stocker asked without really looking at him. Harry was more than a little happy with that reaction. The whole incident in the pub still made his stomach roll uncomfortably. Crowds were never going to be easy for him to deal with, not after so many years of dealing with Dudley's gang and their habit of Harry Hunting.

"I don't think that is technically correct, sir, but I was raised by muggles. Are—are there books? On that? Like, they're real, right? They really exist?"

"Listen, I'm not really—" The teen cut himself off after he finally bothered to look at Harry. His mouth dropped open for a moment before he snapped it close. "You're Harry Potter." He looked like he was torn between nausea and elation. Then a growing expression of anger filled his face as his gaze moved up and down the length of Harry's form. "You were raised by muggles? They're the ones that dressed you like this? Is that—"

A hand darted towards his neck. Harry was already ducking away and retreated before he could process what the teenager had been intending to do—and more importantly, what he _hadn't been_. He felt his face heat with a blush as he straightened back to a normal stance. He couldn't get his shoulders to unhunch and he definitely didn't dare to meet the eyes he could still feel on him. Not even a full day in the magical world and already he had messed up. The only way that this day could get any worse was if the dreams really did turn out to not be real.

"McGonagall or Flitwick?" The teen's sudden question startled Harry into looking at him again. His face had been cleared of any emotion, but his _eyes_ seemed to burn with rage. Harry felt the shiver tingle its way up his spine as a decade of instincts screamed _danger_ at him. "Sprout would have already spotted this and Snape was planning on attending a convention in Sweden this summer. That leaves McGonagall or Flitwick as your escort."

"Hagrid brought me." Harry's answer did not seem to impress the teen. He pulled out what had to be a normal wand, not one hidden in an umbrella. A flick of it had the box of books he was stocking closing itself and then he was moving quickly away towards the back of the story. As he passed Harry, he pinched a fold of Harry's shirt to tug him along in his wake. They ran into a round-faced man with dark red hair and square glasses perched on his nose. The man raised an eyebrow at the stocker.

"He needs help with his introduction, sir. Hogwarts sent Hagrid."

"They did, did they?" the man said, and Harry wasn't certain if that was really meant to be a question. Harry half-liked Hagrid, even if he seemed to have a temper to rival Uncle Vernon's and couldn't really explain, well, _anything_. Yet the way these two were reacting, it was clear that Hagrid should not have been the person to bring him to do his school shopping. "You're taking him to the Flints then?"

"Of course, sir."

"Be quick about it, lad. I'll distract his minder but you know who would have sent him and what that means for how long I'll be success. Get about it."

"Yes, sir."

Then they were out the back of the store into a little quad between the buildings. Harry looked around, just as amazed as he was walking down Diagon Alley to the bank. The stocker kept a hand on him as he pulled him into a tiny gap in the buildings to a busy courtyard. Children were playing raucous games just like they did back in Little Whinging, but every so often there were bursts of sparks or colors or bubbles. No one was scolding them for the blatant displays of magic; no yells about how unnatural it was. Harry's throat felt like something was stuck in it.

"Where are we?"

"Steward's Junction—it's the residential section of the Alleys. We're going to Professon Alley, but we have to cut through Antagon, and I'm going to point out the Center. If something comes up while we're at the Flints or if we can't get there, go there and tell them that Avery sent you on Blotts' authority. They'll help you—it's their job. They'll keep you safe."

"All this because I asked about meeting someone in dreams?"

"What? No—everyone meets their soulmate in their dreams. This is because you clearly need help."

"Luna and Neville are my soulmates?"

"You have two? Don't answer that! It was a stupid question. We're almost there."

"Almost where?"

"The best hiding place in all Britannia," Avery answered before pushing open the door to a shop that had jewelry in the display window. Harry followed, knowing that everything had just changed.


	17. Ignore Not

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

 **Warnings:** This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers.

 **Author's Note(s):** This piece was written for a challenge in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft  & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments) on the FFN forum.  
 **The Challenge Information** :  
 **House** : Gryffindor  
 **Claimed Pairing:** Lunar Heroes (Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood/Harry Potter)  
 **Day 23:** Power Boost upon Meeting  
 **Extra Prompt[s]** : n/a  
 **Word Count** : 2542

-= LP =-

Ignore Not

-= LP =-

"A fool too late bewares when all the peril is past." – Queen Elizabeth I of England

-= LP =-

Magic didn't like being ignored.

That was a lesson which the wizards learned the hard way.

Hogwarts was once a shining bastion of wizarding culture and traditions, along with its sister institutions of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. Its very name declared its intent to teach not only wizardry but also witchcraft. If they had stuck to that promise, maybe Magic wouldn't have felt ignored. Maybe everything that happened afterwards could have been avoided.

Maybe.

It wasn't like they hadn't been forewarned that it was coming. Even as the Founders had been forming the infamous school—the school which helped bring about the end of European Wizardry—there had been warning signs. Battles were fought over the danger presented by the arrogant displays made by wizards and vilifying the witches would only buy them so much time. Salazar Slytherin's eventual retreat from his friends was largely ignored—painted viciously as distaste for the newly endowed despite it being the increasingly common slaughter of magi, even children displaying their first bursts of Magic's Blessing. Morgana of the Fae had used her own magic to lock away the Cambion known as Merlin Ambrosius but still the wizards carried on in his name as if he was a god or Magic Herself. In disgust, Morgana had retreated to the isle she had pulled _between_. After her half-brother had returned to her, on the edge of death, she had closed the mist to all but her agents. They painted her use of dark magic as evil and ignored all the lies Merlin's light magic had needed to be justified. The wizards continued on as if they could master something as wild as magic with nothing more than a stick and their stubbornness.

It wasn't ignorance that led to their downfall.

It had been arrogant stupidity.

She let them have their little game _once_ , their _Tri-Wizard Tournament_. She let them pit their children— _Her children_ —against each other _once_ and sent warnings not to do it again. Five years later, they held another one, another pointless display of brutal violence and their willingness to endanger children. They ignored every warning that Magic had ever sent them and every warning that the magi who practiced any form of witchcraft had told them.

And Magic didn't like being ignored.

In the exact moment that the first child had died, Magic had ripped Her Blessing from every wizard who had passed their twenty-first birthday. The European magical communities had been cut in half in a matter of hours. Moreover, it was shown exactly who still followed the practices and methods that had been labeled as _dark_ before being made illegal. The Ripping repeated itself for years before the Tri-Wizard schools had finally learned to stop ignoring the source of their power. Magic made it clear that wizardry would no longer be tolerated.

As the Fourteenth Century dawned, it was clear that Europe had to abandon their showy wands and reassess their practices if they were going to survive. No one could really say what life would have been like if wizardry had continued to thrive—if Magic hadn't decided to put Her metaphorical foot down. Maybe there would have been sweeping amounts of prejudice against the newly endowed and the non-magicals. Maybe those with creature blood would be considered secondary citizens in their own countries, possibly even having to register their locations. Maybe they would have let magi use their magic against each other without repercussions.

Maybe the Great War would not have started, between lords of Light and Dark.

Albus Dumbledore certainly wasn't anyone's favorite Lord to pay homage to, but by right of conquest, he held the title of Lord of Light. He had defeated Gellert Grindelwald for the title, then had promptly claimed the other magus as his Consort. The Lord of Darkness came out of the non-magical world, and was believed for years to be a newly-endowed. Then it was discovered that his mother had been of the Witch Founder's line, one of the last able to make such a claim. Even being the Heir of Slytherin wasn't enough to bring forth Riddle's soulmate, and so the Dark Lord was without a Consort.

No one knew what brought the two lords into conflict. All that was known was that they were waging a very bloody war between them and as long as no child was physically harmed, Magic was letting it continue without interference. Then, as the story goes, there was a prophecy, a promise of a possible end to all the death and destruction.

There was to be a child born who would vanquish the Dark Lord after being marked as his equal.

One often meets one's fate on the road to avoid it.

On the night that non-magicals had designated as All Hallows' Eve, the Dark Lord marked his equal and was vanquished. Dumbledore whisked the infant away and installed his own Consort as the new Lord of Darkness, declaring the Great War over due to their bonds of fealty and love. All of the oaths which bound the witches of Britannia converged into one person's possession for the first time, something which Magic had previously prevented completely.

Maybe Albus Dumbledore should have paid more attention to history.

Because Magic never liked to be ignored.

-= LP =-

The park was the closest that the portal could drop them to their target. It was unfortunate, but it had been getting progressive harder to open the Mist as Dumbledore solidified his power over the main realm. Morgana had warned that she may not be able to reopen it for their return until the balance was restored and that Magic was quickly running out of patience. Luna didn't want to be outside of Avalon if the Mother decided to start another Ripping, and she was fairly certain that Neville felt the same.

"Do they make everything out of iron?" Neville asked, his round nose wrinkling in distaste. Luna could understand that sentiment. All around them, even in the tiny space of green, the _taste/feel_ of untempered iron pulsed against her senses. Her stomach twisted from the intense desire to flee from it, to seek out somewhere safe to hide until she could retreat back to a Sidhe or even just a _between_ space like her native Avalon. But they had a reason for being here, and they couldn't just abandoned it.

They couldn't abandon _him_ , now that they knew of him. Nearly twenty years, he had been hidden from Morgana's sight. She had sent agents to attempt to find him, but none had any luck and the world had been growing increasingly hostile to magi coming from any realm convergent with a Sidhe. It was only the respect of Queen Maeve which had allowed Morgana to risk sending one last team out to find the rightful Heir of the Dark Lordship. So, of course, Lady Morgana made certain to pick the people most likely to succeed. Magic Herself would aid the seeking, as She did for all soulmates. Already, Luna could feel the tingle of awareness which had led her once to the man shifting beside her.

"That way," Neville said as he pointed to the South. She gave him a nod, moving to take point. He rubbed her arm as she passed him, a comfort just as silent as she had to be in this realm. As a Sidhe-born bard, it would be far better for her to remain as silent as possible. Every word she spoke had power, had the touch of magic. Being conceived and born in a place like Avalon, the faery magic intertwined with her Blessing just made her gifts and training all the more powerful. A single syllable would be enough to warn Dumbledore's monitors that magic had been used around where he had secreted his true opponent, at least magic which didn't belong to the boy in question. Silence was only to their advantage, and they had known that before they left.

They moved between shadows. The non-magical people barely looked at them, the clinging traces of Avalon driving their attention to skip over them. She traced a practiced gaze over the non-magicals, taking note of the strange fashions and the complete lack of visible weapons. If she was forced to glamour Neville and herself, she would have to hide his sword completely. What a strange concept! Who would be so foolish as to travel about completely defenseless? Did they have no town guard?

They found the little house easily enough, despite the overwhelming sameness of the neighborhood. It was the only one which had magic. Not even the house a block over with its large population of magical cats had more than a faint trace of magic to it—and that was most likely from the animals that lived there. Number 4 Privet Drive was laden with protective wards and its gardens had enough magic within the plants to have attracted the lesser fairies to hide among them. Even in the crispness of late autumn, it mimicked the full life of late spring.

There were a sentry under an invisibility cloak (not even a really good one as it distorted the scenery instead of blended perfectly) directly across the street.

With only a glance between them, Neville let Luna step away alone while he crouched out of sight but where he could still watch the house. Like a shadow herself, Luna moved with silent precision around the perimeter of the place. Every bit of this built upon her suspicions which had already been thick when it was revealed just what the situation was in Britannia. The rest of Earth fared much better—the problem of the False Lord was still contained to his native islands. The boxwood hedge was annoying but Luna knew that it was a popular decoration for non-magicals. But the window boxes with marigolds and primrose had to have been deliberate. That only one window had crossed bars of pure iron just confirmed the idea that _someone_ knew where the heir's rescuers would be coming from and what sort of limitations they might have. She returned to Neville with the same quiet stealth that she had left him.

"Find any additional guards?" Neville asked quietly. She shook her head before wrinkling her nose. Neville grimaced in sympathy. "Yeah, I can see the flowers and hedge from here, and there's a stronger bite to the iron here. The guard doesn't patrol though—just stands there watching and occasionally shifting their weight. They don't have any magic items on their person beyond the cloak and something with a communication spell on it. The wards—they must be expecting nothing to be able to get through them that wouldn't be stopped by either the hedge or the window boxes. It's a stupid thing to depend upon—they _are_ strong but not as strong as all that and nowhere near what they could be."

She raised an eyebrow at him. His response was to briefly touch the thick scar on his cheek, a reminder of his childhood before being stolen by Lady Morgana _herself_. Thank Mother Magic that her parents had the sense to petition for the Lady to grant them hospitality in Avalon. Earth was such a cruel, heartless place that had no kindness for children. The British witches were even worse, it seemed at times. She bit back a snarl at the thought of their soulmate having been raised completely within such a cold household. Even still, her magic prickled under her skin, begging for revenge.

"We're here now, and he'll soon be safe, my love," Neville soothed. He stroked a hand down her bare arm. The callouses from his sword grip was a relaxing scratch along the length. The tingly twitch of their magic combining and multiply, even in that brief touch, was as comforting as always, and just as achy as the combined magic recognized the missing element. She turned her gaze longingly to the bland house which hid their third. Neville sighed. "I know. But despite it all, we finally found him and we're not leaving without him."

Just then a high-pitched screech filled the air. It was quickly followed by equally terrible shouting. Someone was clearly berating another person at a volume that should have had the neighbors poking their heads out of their homes. But no one stirred, not even the lone sentry. The vitriol was thick with hatred and viciousness. It was also clearly coming from Number 4 because the wards dimmed with every word only to shimmer back to their original setting in every pause. Luna felt sick as she realized what she had to be seeing: wards based on _love_ where there was none to be had.

"No," she whispered, horrified. The syllable's power rippled the air around her—and Neville was moving before she even recognized that she had broken their cover. It was as natural as breathing to follow in his wake. The boxwood would have worked well to keep them out, especially her, except for the foolish openings created by the driveway and front walk. Likewise, every window was protected but main door of the house was left alone, without even iron in its hinges. It was all foolish mistakes, but useful now as Neville forced the wooden door open with a single kick.

The sentry didn't engage them, but they knew better than to expect that. A single sentry with a communication device was not meant to engage attackers. They were meant to inform a different force. Depending on the kill of the witches that could be marshalled on short notice, they had at least ten minutes before they met resistance. Dumbledore's forces had difficulty using independent teleportation methods and thus were reliant upon set-location methods—their so-called _portkeys_. Dumbledore wouldn't dare send any of his stolen forces, lest they realize who actually succeeded the last Dark Lord. She let a counter start in her head.

"How dare you enter my home!" screeched a harridan of a woman—the same one which had been yelling not a moment before. Neville looked unimpressed by her enraged expression. Luna was happy to leave dealing with her to him while she focused on the bleeding form huddled against the wall. There would never be a time when she would forget the resigned fear in those emerald eyes. It made her want to weep even as she tore his enemies apart while they still lived. It was a fairy's rage, she knew, but for a single heartbeat she nearly traded places with her Neville—a quick death by a blade would be too quick—and then she was kneeling before their final piece. The magic between them sought the blending, even without touch, and it held the yearning of a lifetime. She touched his cheek, the blood slippery beneath her fingers. The magic pulsed and yanked—by the Mother, she had believed that she and Neville had boosted each other upon initially meeting.

This was so much more than that. This was completeness. This was wholeness.

This was _power_.

Somewhere far off, where her bardic ability came from, Luna heard Magic laugh in vindictive joy.

Magic really didn't like being ignored.


	18. Circles of Hope

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

 **Warnings:** This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers.

 **Author's Note(s):** This piece was written for a challenge in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft  & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments) on the FFN forum.  
 **The Challenge Information** :  
 **House** : Gryffindor  
 **Claimed Pairing:** Lunar Heroes (Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood/Harry Potter)  
 **Day 25:** Incomplete Symbols  
 **Extra Prompt[s]** : Lemon Yellow  
 **Word Count** : 714

-= LP =-

Circles of Hope

-= LP =-

"If brokenness is a work of art, surely this must be my masterpiece." – Sleeping at Last, _Neptune_

-= LP =-

Luna traced her fingers over her little triangle with its curved base. The bright lemon yellow of it bled into emerald on one side while the other edge was a rich orange. The tip was a muddled sort of brown, where the green and orange had meet with just the beginning of a perfect shade of violet. She had never needed anyone to tell her that there was more pieces to her Mark than just one. The colors conveyed that very clearly, confirming what the curve had already told her.

Someday, she would be a part of a circle, a third of a whole.

Right now, while she was alone with the bullying and the people who didn't even try to understand, she just had to be strong enough to get through it. The loneliness didn't matter, because it would pass. The ache of rejection didn't matter, because somewhere there were two people who would only ever accept her.

They would find her.

And if they didn't?

Well, then she would find them.

-= LP =-

Neville didn't agree with everyone's assessment of his Mark. While he liked the idea that Aunt Enid had put forth about how his blue triangle with its oddly bulging edge meant that either him or his soulmate were bound for Ravenclaw (and he especially like the permission that bought him, to enjoy his favorite activities of reading and gardening rather than the more physical activities his father had enjoyed at his age), Neville couldn't help but feel that it wasn't accurate. His only real problem was the quantity everyone used, because he really thought there might be more than just one of them, and he was okay with that.

He would run his fingers over the fuzzy edges of his Mark, shades of lightening green on one side while blending into a dusky purple on the other side. The tip looked like it was meeting an orange but with all the blending into brown, it was hard to tell. The bulge could easily be a circle and Neville could understand the completeness of that—and he longed for the fulfillment of that promise.

He didn't worry about loving them, because he already did, and he knew that he always would.

Circles didn't have beginnings, after all, and they never ended.

All he had to do was find them, his pair of soulmates, and then everything would be perfect.

He just had to find them.

-= LP =-

Harry had no idea why his parents put the tattoo on him, or why they had chosen the design that they had. Aunt Petunia had sharp words about parents who did that to their children, and really, that was the most common thing that she ever said about his parents, whose names Harry didn't even know. And it _hurt_ so much to know that they had left such a permanent mark upon his body but hadn't wanted him otherwise, if Aunt Petunia was to be believed about the reason they had been drinking the night.

He did like the vibrant red that made up the majority of it. He had these nightmares that left him having difficulties breathing and wanting to weep like Dudley being denied a treat. All he could ever remember of it was a bright, poisonous green—and the red of the tattoo was the exact opposite color of it. That felt like a defiant denial of whatever made that green light and Harry loved it. The orange along one edge of it was a happy color, joyful in its brightness, like nothing would dare snuff of its light. The purple on the other side was twilight soft, as comfortable as stars in the night sky.

Harry liked the idea of his tattoo, but he had no clue why his parents had given him only a third of what would have been a very cool color wheel. There was no suggestion that they had planned on giving him the other pieces, the blue and yellow thirds to match his red one. It didn't feel right that it was incomplete.

Maybe when he was old enough, he would have it finished.

Maybe then the ache of something missing would end.

He just had to wait.

He could do that.


	19. Through the Flames

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

 **Warnings:** This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers.

 **Author's Note(s):** This piece was written for a challenge in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft  & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments) on the FFN forum.  
 **The Challenge Information** :  
 **House** : Gryffindor  
 **Claimed Pairing:** Lunar Heroes (Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood/Harry Potter)  
 **Day 26:** Only Your Soulmate Can Kill You  
 **Extra Prompt[s]** : Propose  
 **Word Count** : 1000

-= LP =-

Through the Flames

-= LP =-

"Here I am. Will you send me an angel?" – The Scorpions, _Send Me an Angel_

-= LP =-

Harry had toyed with the idea before—the idea of that maybe the only way out of the utter hell of his life was to simply not be alive. In the past, his own cowardice had always got the best of him before he could find an opportunity to follow through on the idea. While Hogwarts had definitely been an improvement over the Dursleys, it was not without its own flaws…and opportunities. Trolls, Dark Lords, and basilisks had all taken their shots at him, and Harry still hadn't managed to die.

He was actually kind of surprised that no one had caught onto how reckless he was. Or maybe someone had, if he understood Neville's slightly sick looks whenever he heard of some stunt or another.

The point was that Harry had thought about dying long before he had been forced to compete in this _death match_ for a school that _really_ didn't like him. The only people who seemed even a little bit concerned about him was Hermione and Neville, while all the rest of them wore those badges of Malfoy's. He could look at the situation logically—if he was gone, then they wouldn't have to worry any longer and could probably get something done. He had even sent a letter off to Gringotts requesting that they make sure that his stuff and vault got turned over to Hermione if anything happened to him and had gotten a reply that his Will had been updated to reflect his wishes. So everything was taken care of—and he could finally, _finally_ escape.

He was just so _tired_.

Hermione's hug before she left him at the Champions' Tent had an edge of desperateness to it, like she knew what he was planning. Saying goodbye had been difficult, but not so much that he wavered. A sort of calm washed over him as he watched the other Champions. The outcome of his match was already guaranteed, so he felt no uncertainty, had none of their nervousness. Krum's gruff question if he was alright once they were alone didn't even phase him. He was fine. This was acceptable.

He marched out into the arena with his head held high.

He had always ducked away and hidden from death, but he wouldn't this time.

This time he would greet it with open arms, like it was an old friend who was dearly missed.

Harry was as surprised as everyone when the Horntail's flames had passed over him harmlessly. He had blinked at the mother dragon who had simply blinked at him in return. He had taken one step, and she had let him. On the second step, she breathed her flame again. Once more it flowed over his body as harmless as the sun, and he felt just as warmed by it. She reared up in defiance of his refusal to burn, unfurling her great wings to beat at the air around them. Her sharp teeth—some as long as his arms—gnashed a few times before she roared her rage for all to hear.

Unintimidated, Harry marched right up to the nest, dodging between her moving legs as she attempted to block his passage. Taking care to not touch any of the real eggs, he snagged the golden egg before retreating. The Horntail gave a final gout of fire to his back. It was just as effective as the other two.

Then he found himself facing an entirely different kind of she-dragon.

Hermione latched her arms around his chest and didn't seem to be willing to even consider budging, not even for Madam Pomfrey who wanted to do her checkup. Neville stood over to the side, holding an unfamiliar blonde in Ravenclaw robes who didn't seem to be able to stop sobbing. His right hand was wrapped and he had what looked to be the start of a rather bad shiner, but otherwise looked fine except for the weirdly intense look he was directing at Harry.

"I'm fine," Harry tried to say, but all he managed to get out was the first syllable before Hermione's arms tightened with a choking sob that was echoed by the Ravenclaw. Neville looked like he wanted to punch something, possibly again judging by the placement of the wrap on his hand.

"You had no idea if the Soulmate Blessing would have worked," Neville accused flatly. "I'm even willing to bet that you didn't know it existed."

"Is that why the dragon's flames didn't hurt?" Harry asked before thinking what it would say to agree to those statements. Hermione's tears were seeping through his shirt, and if she tightened her hold any more then he wouldn't have to worry about breathing because he'd died for real. The blonde threw herself away from Neville to stalk over to him.

"It took me thirteen thrice-hexed years to find you, Harry Potter," she declared with all the threatening force of a thunderstorm, "to find _both of you_ , and this is how I discover you? By you activating our Blessing trying to kill yourself?! I have half a mind to kill you and half a mind to propose that we all run as far away from whatever made you think that facing a dragon—accepting a flaming death—was a good idea!"

"It seemed like—"

"Don't you _dare_ finish that sentence, Harry James Potter!" She screeched to words at him, refusing the budge an inch. "I loved you before you even knew I existed, and if you finish that sentence, I may very well forget that and kill you _myself_ for scaring me with your utter _stupidity_. Now, this is what is going to happen. Hermione is going to let go so that the matron can see that you aren't hiding any injuries; you're going to get your scores, and then we're all going to go discuss how to go about getting the HEA for this nightmarish fairy tale. What do you say?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"At least you learn fast."


	20. Losing Homes

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

 **Warnings:** This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers.

 **Author's Note(s):** This piece was written for the Houses Competition on the FFN Forums.

 **The Houses Competition Information** :  
 **House** : Hufflepuff  
 **Category** : Drabble  
 **Outside Category** : SL Forfeit (Shay)  
 **Prompts** : Shaking [action]  
 **Word Count** : 878

-= LP =-

Losing Homes

-= LP =-

 _Death leaves a heartache no one can heal.  
Love leaves a memory no one can steal._  
– A headstone in Ireland

-= LP =-

It came as a shock.

Molly and Arthur had survived both Wars with Voldemort. They had survived raising the twins whose idea of fun had been making things explode. Not even the most vicious of biting toilet seats had done more than give Arthur something to gripe about mildly while Molly plied him with tea and scones. Nagini's bite had nearly killed Arthur, but the man had bounced back with aplomb and excitement over muggle remedies.

In Harry's mind, they had become immortal, undefeatable.

They had opened their home to him as if it didn't matter—no, as if it was the only thing that could have been done, as if to do otherwise was so foreign a concept that it never crossed their minds. Harry was Ron's friend and of course, he was welcomed. Harry needed a place to stay, so of course he was coming home with them. Harry didn't have parents or a family—well, that wouldn't do. Molly had never seen anything wrong with just tucking Harry under her wing, just another of her chicks to be mothered. Arthur had thought nothing of conspiring about bending rules—laws, even—that he himself had set before immediately dissembling the moment Molly turned a frown in his direction. They hadn't pulled away from him, not even when it became clear that he and Ginny weren't working out and there would be no formal way for him to join the family.

And now they were gone.

And there was no one to even blame.

After years of Petunia telling him that his parents died in a car crash, that was how he had lost the closest he had as a replacement. There was no drunk driver or distracted teen out for a joy ride. Arthur hadn't been speeding when the car hydroplaned, slipping out of his careful control and off the road before Molly could react. For years she had been so quick with her wand, capable of separating squabbling children and shielding explosions in half a heartbeat, but the woman who had defeated the toughest of Voldemort's lieutenants hadn't be fast enough to save herself or her husband.

Harry wanted to be angry. He wanted to scream and rage like he had after Sirius' death. He wanted to weep and wail and cry until he could drown in the ocean of tears that he must be carrying around inside himself. Instead, he went through too-familiar motions. He had arranged funerals so many times in the wake of the Final Battle, because so many families had ended completely and there had been no one to do it. The Ministry had been willing to bury them, but services would have been forgone and Harry couldn't let—Molly had beamed at him when she had found out, her first smile since Fred's death.

Remembering that wasn't enough to break the numbness he felt.

Maybe he wouldn't feel anything ever again. Maybe they had taken that with them.

The Will was to be read the day after the funeral and Harry was mildly surprised to be on the list of required attendees. It was a spark of something, but it didn't last long. Maybe Molly had wanted him there to comfort Ginny and Ron—or George, who had had trouble integrating into the world after the War, a world without Fred. If they wanted him there, the reason didn't matter, did it? Of course he would go.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, his lips numb with shock. "Can you repeat that, please?"

"The Burrow, its contents, and all connected lands are bequeathed to our youngest son, Harry James Potter," the goblin repeated obligingly, "so that he will always have a home to return to even after we're gone. I know that he will care for it with the same dedication and love that we always had and that he will always welcome our other children just as we would."

It started with a slight tremble in his hands as he lifted them to cover his face, just a trickle of feeling through the dam that had capped his emotions. Then it had rippled through his entire frame as the dam burst. He choked back the sob trying to escape. Next thing he knew he was shaking with the emotions flying through him.

It was too much.

It was still not enough.

Harry grabbed onto the first lifesaver tossed his way, in the form of a slim feminine form wiggling her way onto his lap—Ginny, judging by the yarrow scent of her hair. He held tight to the woman who was capable of frightening fully trained aurors with no more than a raise of her eyebrow and bullying Ron into doing things even when he had dug deep into his stubborn stupidity. Ginny knew that Harry wouldn't have been able to stand being held—taking comfort was something he just couldn't handle most of the time—but Harry couldn't spare the energy to feel grateful that she had remembered their compromise. He just kept her in his arms as he shook apart with his grief, finally.

His parents had left him their home, so that he would always have one.

He could only feel like he had lost the best one.


	21. Lies Within, Blindness Without

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

 **Warnings:** This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers. This piece specifically mentions the inherently dubious consent which is love potions from the view of someone willing to use them, in canonically acceptable ways (that are realistically disturbing).

 **Author's Note for Competition Data:** This piece was written for the purposes of a FFN Forum Competition.  
 **Competition Information** :  
 **Hogwarts House** : Gryffindor  
 **Houses House** : Hufflepuff  
 **Subject [Task]:** History of Muggles [Task 05a: Someone getting arrested]  
 **Category** : Short  
 **House** **s** **Prompts** : Romilda Vane [Character]  
 **Word Count** : 1046 (Story); 1076 (Story & Epigraph)

-= LP =-  
Lies Within, Blindness Without  
-= LP =-  
"Unfortunately, some of our greatest tribulations are the result of our own foolishness and weakness and occur because of our own carelessness or transgression." – James E. Faust  
-= LP =-

"This is just a misunderstanding," Romilda reassured. She flashed the agent a smile, choosing to ignore that the Ministry had chosen to add to this insult by sending an actual auror to arrest her instead of a regular Enforcement agent. An actual auror! Like she was some irredeemable dark witch intent on murdering the innocent!

At least the auror was cute, in a plain sort of way. (Did he say that his name was Higgs or Higgins? Oh, what did it even matter?) She would describe him as nondescript, actually. Other than the vaguely attractive features, he was little more than a face that would blend into any crowd. He should appreciate that she was even willing to allow him to be in her presence, what with his preposterous claim. She still gestured her receptionist to call her father. The barrister on retainer for the Vane family would make the entire Department of Magical Law Enforcement pay for this.

"You haven't even heard the charges yet, Miss Vane," the auror replied—Higgs, she recalled abruptly. (He was a Slytherin a few years ahead of her. There may be another way of out this, if she could stomach pretending attraction to such a dreadful creature.) His gaze was more suspicious than admiring—which it really should have been. Her hair had been artfully curled into lovely waves that spilled over her shoulders like a black waterfall of silk. The perfect crimson of her lipstick contrasted perfectly with the pale viridian of her eyes. Her business-casual robes were a rich cobalt, dark and powerful, and molded perfectly to her slim frame. He should be admiring her beautiful presentation, not staring at her as if she was a common criminal trying to weasel their way out of trouble!

"I don't need to," she replied smartly. "I haven't done anything wrong, so clearly this is a misunderstanding."

"So you know nothing of why Harry Potter suddenly began declaring his fascination with your person—"

"Did he really?" she asked with a curl of her red lips. It was always grand when a plan came together. Though, if the deployment was successful, why was she being forced to deal with this boring person in his hideous scarlet robes? "How sweet of him!"

"—and then tested positive for a love potion?"

"Oh," Romilda stated succinctly. Internally, she was cursing at the recognition that this execution of her plan had been foiled like all her others had. Still, there was nothing _illegal_ about what she had done. Potter just needed his head turned in her direction. It wasn't as if the potions would need to be continued long enough to affect their children. She still needed to deflect suspicions away from her if she had any hope of another execution of the plan. "Was it that Weasley girl? I heard she was sniffing around him again now that he had settled into the Auror program."

"Miss Vane—"

"Romilda, please," she interrupted. She turned her most seductive smile on him and looks at Higgs carefully through her lashes. The look he gives her in return is disturbingly blank.

"Miss Vane, I ask that you come in for questioning concerning the potential dosing of a peer of the realm with illegal love potions—"

"I'm afraid you're mistaken," Romilda interrupted again. This situation was quickly becoming very irritating. The impulse to scratch at the auror's tallow-colored eyes grew within her. Who could possibly stand to leave such a hideous yellow exposed to the world at large? It was an insult to fashion. Higgs was an annoyance in more ways than one. "Love potions are not illegal. Now if you will see yourself out, I have work to attend to. The runway waits for no one, darling."

"Regardless of your knowledge of recent changes to potion use regulations and personal autonomy laws, I have been charged with bringing you in as a person of interest in this case. It would look better on you if you came quietly." His lips twitched at the corners as if he would be pleased if he had to expend force to take her to the ministry for questioning. Seriously, where did the Department of Magical Law Enforcement find these people? "But that is not a requirement, and I'm authorized by Minister Shacklebolt to use whatever necessary force to ensure you are brought in for questioning concerning the ongoing issue of Junior Auror Potter's random bouts of devotion for you. Undersecretary Granger is particularly interested in discovering the extent of your involvement. So you can decide to come quietly or not. You'll be going either way."

"Now, see here, you—"

"I am seeing here, ma'am," Higgs said, having no problem with speaking over her. She gave a darting look around as her fellow designers poked their heads into the room. Stupid Higgs pushed himself into her personal space and began to manhandle her wrists to together before using suppression cuffs to bind them. The auror continued speaking in an overly loud voice that drew even more attention than necessary and gave away far too much information. "Romilda Vane, you are under arrest pending charges of obstructing an ongoing criminal investigation and suspicion of dosing a peer of the realm with illegal love potions with the intent of line theft."

"This is ridiculous!" she screeched before modulating her tone to something less shrill and more authoritative. "I demand you stop this heinous prank at once! Everyone knows that love potions are not illegal! A woman is allowed to use what she must to gain the notice of the right suitor! Remove these cuffs at once!"

"This memory shall be submitted as evidence," Higgs stated gleefully. Anger rolled in her gut as a bitter taste filled her mouth. How _dare_ he even suggest laughing at this atrocity! The nerve! When she finally gained her rightful place as Lady Potter, she would make him pay for this insult. Amid the twittering whispers of her co-workers, Higgs began to maneuver her to the building's transportation hub. "It will be available for viewing prior to your arraignment and its contents may be used for further charges at a later day."

She would make them pay for this!

She would make them all pay!


	22. Love in Adversity

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

 **Warnings:** This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers.

 **Author's Note(s):** This piece was written for the Houses Competition on the FFN Forums.

 **The Houses Competition Information** :  
 **House** : Hufflepuff  
 **Category** : Themed  
 **Prompts** : Blaise Zabini/Hermione Granger  
 **Word Count** : 1870 (Story); 1892 (Story & Epigraph)

-= LP =-

Love in Adversity

-= LP =-

"Every adversity, every failure, every heartache carries with it the seed of an equal or greater benefit."  
– Napoleon Hill

-= LP =-

Hermione was gentle when she picked up the child from the wreckage. The child, barely more than a baby, still let out a whimper at the contact. Tiny hands clenched around the fabric of her blouse before immediately releasing, as if the toddler had already learned to let go of things before they could hurt. Hermione's heart clenched, but she stayed gentle as she tucked the child's body close to hers. The child went with the motion, compliant in terror. All these actions scream its wrongness, but Hermione knew that this would not be an easy trip, not for her heart and not when it was an orphanage ran by the likes of Umbridge. Being around children hurt when she could not have one of her own, but the idea of Teddy in Umbridge's hands had hurt more.

Her arms securely wrapped around the child, Hermione looked to the rim of the newly made crater that was once the facility of the home, searching for one person in particular. Harry's face was grim when she found it, but it lit up when their eyes met. A moment later, resignation settled over him as if he could feel how much the idea of letting the girl go was already hurting her. He would back whatever decision she made, and any argument they had would be only to ensure that she had her counters ready for those who would oppose her. If there was any benefit at all of fighting a war with someone, loyalty soaked in blood and pain would be it. In ways that many outsiders didn't understand, Harry was _hers_ , just as the child now was. The child snuffled before Hermine felt a nose pressing into her neck.

Harry managed to get them out of the pit and shuffled into the tent serving as an emergency hospital. Somehow both Hermione and the child had escaped the collapse of the children's home with only bruises to show for it. But the child stayed quiet for all the fuss. Every time someone would touch her skin-to-skin, a tiny whimper would escape but nothing else. The one time Hermione had let her go, she had lifted a hand towards her rescuer, fingers splayed and eyes wide. Then, without a sound, she curled the hand into a tiny fist and tucked it into her side and looked away.

No child should be that resigned to being without comfort, especially not that young.

Harry left her side without only a brush of his knuckles against the back of her hand. Hermione didn't bother with trying to figure out where he had gone as she took the girl's fist into her hands. Around them, the emergency hospital buzzed with activity despite the distinctively few survivors. They didn't matter to Hermione either—and while some distant part of her wondered why she wasn't rushing around making everything run as efficiently as possible like she would normally, the rest was focused upon the tiny being who had turned back to keep her eyes upon her. That gaze held so much fear and Hermione wanted nothing more than to soothe it all away. She settled on the cot beside the girl, determined to stay close as she tried to encourage the little one to rest.

Through it all, the child did not cry and that made Hermione's heart break a thousand times.

Who could do this to a child? Abandon them to the point that even if they lived and was physically healthy, they wouldn't act as a normal child would? Hermione had known it happened. She was best friends with Harry Potter. How could she not know that some people were cruel enough to ignore their charges? But after all the problems she had carrying her children, Hermione simply couldn't understand it. She had lost so many before she was able to hold them. Why would anyone deliberately ignore one who so clearly wanted to be held?

The hand on the back of her neck made her jump. A glance behind showed that the owner of the hand was Blaise. He stroked the skin along her hairline before twisting an escaped curl around one of his fingers. Something she hadn't known had tightened loosened within her. Relaxing into the touch of her husband as he sat behind her, Hermione allowed her own fingers to rub the little girl's wrist. Everything would work out, even if she was feeling out of sorts by this situation. Blaise always made sure that things worked out as best as they could and he was here now.

"Harry said they're looking for her records," Blaise whispered, "but it doesn't look like there will be much. Beyond the explosion that destroyed the building in the first place, the records were kept fairly anonymous. It looks like the children weren't even given names."

"Which means that magic won't show their existence," Hermione replied. Blaise pressed his cheek against her hair before nodding. Her throat clogged from the tears she couldn't bring herself to cry. Knowing her better than anyone save Harry, Blaise wrapped her in his arms. He took care not to dislodge her gentle hold on the girl who was still silently watching. "No one would be looking for them if they hadn't taken Teddy, would they? Oh, no, _Teddy_ —"

"Harry's got him," Blaise interrupted. He rubbed a hand over her stomach. "The little scamp had escaped before the raid even started. Not long before, mind, but long enough that he was safely away before the ploy was found out." He sounded disapproving, which she knew she deserved for not warning him ahead of time. As an Unspeakable, her primary focus was research and she only rarely helped out the Auror Department. If this case had involved any other werewolf-born child than Teddy, she would not have been involved, let alone as the person doing the initial infiltration. Blaise pressed a kiss to her temple before continuing his lecture. "You know I understand, my love. I may not like it, but I did know what kind of woman I had stolen when I married you."

"I really wish you wouldn't refer to it as _stealing_ like I'm—"

"—an object instead of a person," Blaise finished the common argument. He kissed her temple again as he pressed against her back. "Never doubt that I see you as a person, Hermione Jane Granger. I love every bit of you—the strength you demonstrate in your gentleness, the defiance you showed when you refused to take my family name, the brilliance that has revolutionized our corner of the world, and yes, even the utter recklessness that has you jumping into danger like every other foolish Gryffindor. It was my best scheme ever when I seduced you away—"

"Oh, you're being ridiculous," Hermione groused, despite the smile twitching her lips. "Ron and I had been broken up for at least three months before our paths crossed after the war—and as I recall, I was the one to ask you out."

"All a part of my brilliant plan," he boasted as he always did.

The rhythm of the argument was as comforting as a mantra, as soothing to her nerves as the feel of his magic surrounding her. Falling in love with Blaise had been simple and easy, without the volatility of her relationship with Ron. Blaise painted it as something deliberate, but she knew he had been caught just as much off guard as she had been. Even if their relationship had started as some elaborate plot, no one would have blamed him for leaving after the healers had declared that she wouldn't be able to give him an heir. Well, Harry would have, but over the years, Hermione had figured out that Harry had different priorities than those in the Wizarding World. Hermione had no doubt that Harry would always side with her, just as she was certain that Blaise loved her as much as she loved him.

"My grandmother's name was Isolde," Blaise mentioned after several minutes of silence. "She was my mother's mother, so it fit." Hermione understood that it was a reference to his grandmother's paleness opposed to his own dark complexion. With her free hand, she rubbed the arm around her waist. "I think even muggles know the story, but there was once a witch who loved so fiercely that even tragedy couldn't stop her. When her lover died, their combined magic transformed them into intertwined rose brambles which refused to wither even in the depths of winter."

"Blaise?" Hermione scarcely dared to breathe more than his name. Her head fell back onto his shoulder, as she attempted to catch a glimpse of his face despite the awkward angle. She didn't want to hope that he meant what she thought—couldn't bear it if she did and turned out to be wrong. All she could tell was that he was looking at the little one laying before them.

"It's a good name," he murmured. "It would fit her just as much as it fit my grandmother. Beauty that did not wither even in the greatest of adversities because of a love that would not die or fade. Having a family name should make up for the lack of blood connection."

"You'll let me keep her?" Hermione dared to ask. There was so many traditions that she had to deal with living amongst the magical community. Even as she clung to every scrap of her independence and individuality, she had known that marrying a pureblood of a noble house meant letting him make certain choices, because he had certain duties to his family. They had never discussed adoption but the research she had done on her own had shown her that it would have been unlikely given the social constraints. There were too much emphasis placed upon the possession of magic and orphans tended to immediately go to their closest family.

"Oh, my love," Blaise said with a huff of breath, "how could I even think of refusing you _anything_ , let alone this? Even Harry saw that she was yours—he said as much when he let me know where you were and that you wouldn't be leaving her side unless forced."

"And you aren't going to force me?"

"I know my limits," he admitted easily. "No one forces Hermione Granger to do anything, especially when there's someone who needs her help. I told you: I knew what kind of woman I was marrying."

"I wanted to give you a child, so very much." She breathed the words, but they still sounded loud in the quiet of the tent. Her eyes burned with tears. It was one of her greatest failures and every time she lost another one, her soul cracked just a bit more. Yet she couldn't bring herself to stop trying. Blaise tightened his arms around her.

"Don't you see, my love?" he asked as he brushed his knuckles against the toddler's wrist just above Hermione's fingers. The child gave a little whimper, same as when Hermione had picked her up. Blaise's words made the wounds in Hermione's heart begin to smooth over. "You already have."


	23. Masterpieces of Nature

**Disclaimer** : I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

 **Warnings** : This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers. This story mentions the death of character in childbirth.

 **Author's Note** : Teddy's reaction in this may seem off to lot of people. I get that accusation a lot when I write kids, especially from the kid's PoV. I write kids based on my experience, and I am aware that my experience is, let's say, _atypical_. That is an apt description, both of myself as a child and of my own children, due to the fact that the differences primarily stem from our atypical neurologies. Teddy is being based upon the behavior and reactions of my oldest, who is completely unbothered by dead bodies, fascinated by blood  & gore, and slow to process loss. Slid into this reaction is my headcanon that Teddy inherited certain traits due to Remus' lycanthropy. He does not transform, but it does affect certain things. His family recognizes this and works with him as necessary, just like any family of a child with different needs would.

Similarly, certain actions may seem off, and due to different limitations, I cannot explain this in the fic. Ginny died before actually giving birth to James, which gives his scent a minor imprint of _her_ death. Because Teddy's lupine traits are a known thing to his family, Harry already knew what intervention would be needed to prevent Teddy's instincts from rejecting James. Being good at compartmentalizing (as we see him doing repeatedly in the books), Harry was focusing on what needed to be done _immediately_ rather than breaking down in grief. It's not that he doesn't care that his wife just died; it's that he puts others' needs before his own (another thing we see him doing repeatedly in the books).

 **Author's Note (Words of Interest)** : _Nonna_ is yet another variation of "grandmother" that exists. In this, it's what Teddy calls Andromeda. _Loup pygmée_ is French and means "little wolf". _Pygmée_ was chosen because of its connotation of tininess.

 **Author's Note with Competition Data** :  
 **House** : Hufflepuff  
 **Category** : Drabble  
 **Prompt(s)** : Teddy Lupin & James Potter  
 **Word Count(s)** : 891 (Story); 903 (Story & Epigraph)

-= LP =-

The Masterpieces of Nature

-= LP =-

"The family is one of nature's masterpieces." – George Santayana

-= LP =-

Teddy didn't like the hospital. It smelled funky, like bad potions and sadness. The chairs were hard and not comfy. The grownups around him, mostly Ginny's family, didn't seem to be helping any because they all smelled scared. Victoire had offered to share her coloring stuff, but she had the markers that smelled wrong, which just added to the bad smells. He restlessly paced around the waiting room. Harry had said he was going to be allowed to help with the new baby, that James was _his_ baby brother, so Teddy should be allowed to help, not forced to wait here.

"Maybe I should take the kids home," Aunt Fleur said. Teddy growled loudly. He wasn't leaving Harry! Most of the grownups looked like they were going to start scolding but Aunt Fleur just looked amused by the reminder of the wolf he had inside him. "Or perhaps not, if the _loup pygmée_ feels so strongly."

"Not _little_ ," Teddy protested, making everyone chuckle. He growled again when she pulled him into her lap as he passed her. The grumpy feeling faded as she rubbed her nose against his cheek and over his jaw. He nuzzled into her neck, letting her scent chase away the bad smells surrounding him. He heard Aunt Fleur talking to the other Weasleys and Nonna, but since she made no move to leave, Teddy let himself relax against her. She wasn't as comforting as Harry, but she didn't mind when he rubbed his cheek against her like a lot of the family did.

"Harry?" Nonna asked, sounding more worried than Teddy had ever heard her. He jerked out of Fleur's lap and raced towards his godfather. Harry crouched down to catch him and didn't seem upset about what Nonna would call his 'uncouth behavior'. Harry's arms only tightened when Teddy pressed his nose into his neck like he had just been doing to Aunt Fleur. Harry smelled both sad and happy, which was weird, but everything was weird and no one was explaining anything, so maybe it was still safe. "Harry, what's wrong?"

"Ginny didn't—" Harry swallowed hard as if the words got caught. Teddy pressed closer as the sadness in Harry's scent spiked. "Ginny didn't make it, but James did. He's healthy, but I can't explain right now." Harry stood, keeping Teddy in his arms like he was a baby despite him being five. "I need to take Teddy to meet James before they move Ginny. It's important. Fleur or Bill can explain."

With those words, Harry carried him down the hall to a room that smelled even worse than the waiting room. Teddy didn't see any blood though. The room was clean, even the bed that held Ginny looking like she could just be asleep. In a bassinet near her head was a baby wrapped in the yellow and black blanket Teddy had been sleeping with so that James would have his scent and wouldn't be lonely. Harry put Teddy on the bed near the bassinet. After a cautious glance at Ginny to confirm what Harry had said, Teddy focused on the baby.

"Lord Potter, this is highly irregular," grumbled a healer that Teddy hadn't noticed by the door. He didn't bother looking at her now, because Harry would take care of everything. That's what Harry did and why he was awesome. "You need to let us finish—"

"Undersecretary Granger already explained Title II, Section 5 of the _Parahuman Act of 1999_ to you, Healer Faible, so I'm just going to remind you that my godson has inherited lycanthropy traits before you make a complete arse of yourself. You can thank me later."

Teddy ignored the grownups who continued to argue. The healer would accept that Harry knew everything about everything eventually and right now, the baby was more interesting. Teddy leaned over the bassinet carefully as he tried to get close enough to really smell him. His smell was _wrong_ in a vaguely threatening way. Teddy whined as he pulled away only to bump into Harry.

"Hey, it's okay," Harry soothed as he held Teddy. He whined again as his wolf urged him to escape and take Harry with him. "I know James smells a little strange, doesn't he? Do you understand why?" Teddy stilled, pressing hard against Harry. Harry meant safety. "It's how he was born, which I know you won't really understand right now, but I promise that James is safe to be around and I know a trick to help your wolf accept that."

Harry guided him through the motions of scenting Ginny one last time, which made him realize what the strangeness in James' smell was. Soon Harry had him and James in a big chair tucked into the corner of the room as the healer took Ginny away. James still smelled strange, but Harry was right about his furry part understanding that James was safe like Harry. Teddy pressed his nose to his new brother's cheek, memorizing his scent like all the others of their family.

James was _his_ , just like Harry was, and Teddy didn't care if he was little, he was going to protect them just like Ginny would if she was here. Deep within, his wolf growled in agreement as James wrapped his fingers around one of Teddy's. Teddy grinned down at _his_ brother.


	24. Hold Us Guiltless

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

 **Warnings:** This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers.

 **Summary (** _ **Hold Us Guiltless**_ **):** Harry had always been good at looking at things on a slant, even on the fly. Perhaps on the fly, he was even better. Dumbledore probably should have realized that before he sent Harry and Hermione back in time to save Sirius. Turns out that Sirius wasn't the only one who just needed a bit more _time_ to figure things out.

 **Song Recommendation(s):** "Take Me to Church" by Hozier

 **Author's Note with the Competition Information** :  
 **House** : Hufflepuff  
 **Category** : Themed (Goodbye)  
 **Prompts** : "Take Me to Church" by Hozier [Song Prompt]  
 **Word Count** : 946 (Story); 962 (Story & Epigraph)

-= LP =-  
Hold Us Guiltless  
-= LP =-

"No masters or kings when the ritual begins." – Hozier, _Take Me to Church_

-= LP =-

"No."

Hermione's breath caught at Harry's denial of her order, so suddenly quiet when they had been arguing just a moment ago. She had to realize that this was about more than Sirius and Buckbeak. Harry never claimed to be the smartest person in any room, but with as many books as Hermione had read, surely she had picked up something as basic as philosophy. The clouds shifted, letting moonlight spill down upon her face.

Just like the sudden light, Harry realized _exactly_ where they were standing.

"We have to move!"

"Harry, we mustn't! I keep telling you—"

"No time, Hermione," Harry interrupted, already dashing to untie Buckbeak. "We're in Lupin's path!"

"We have to move," Hermione moaned, wringing her hands. "Where will we go? Where are we going to hide? The dementors will be coming any moment—"

"Hagrid's is empty now," Harry said, as Buckbeak's tether finally came free.

They ran as quickly as they could through the dark woods. Almost lazily, Buckbeak cantered behind them, not even a hint of agitation when a howl echoed around them. Harry ushered them all into Hagrid's hut to Fang's frantic barking. It was only after Hermione had greeted the enthusiastic boarhound that Harry dared to continue their previous conversation.

" _He who accepts evil without protesting against it is really cooperating with it_ ," Harry intoned. Hermione spun to face him. Her brown eyes were wide with shock. A part of him wanted to be annoyed but he did know that he was being unfair. He was the one who continued to wear the same mask he used at the Dursleys'; he really couldn't be annoyed when even his best friends bought into it. "Pettigrew is running away again, which is what got us into this situation. A man we know is innocent will be sentenced to be executed and—this is very important, Hermione: the head of Wizengamot is not going to do anything to stop it."

"But Dumbledore did—"

"Send us back in time to change things."

"By helping Sirius escape—"

"—which requires that we be _seen_ , which we _must not_ , remember?"

"It's against the law," she said after a long moment. "Terrible things happen to people who meddle with time. So many people have accidentally killed themselves trying."

"Would the head of two legislative bodies know that?"

"Yes," Hermione replied, slowly as if uncertain that she liked that answer. "But what else was he going to do? He can't overrule the Minister!"

"Why not? _Think_ , Hermione. The Ministry cannot interfere with Hogwarts without involving the governors because they cannot act on the grounds without the headmaster's permission. If the head magistrate of the House of Lords issued a stay of execution, that would be enough to override ministerial order—why would it be any different for the Chief Warlock? If the UN granted a refugee asylum pending _a trial he had been denied_ , then it didn't matter where they were being kept in custody. What do you think the International Confederation of Wizards is? How _exactly_ are Dumbledore's hands tied here?"

"Harry, we still cannot go about changing anything that suits our fancy!" She looked scandalized by the very idea of such a thing. Harry scoffed before he could stop himself. Hermione glared at him. "Time should not be rearranged to suit a whim!"

"Like using routine time travel to _study_?"

" _Harry!_ "

"Pot," Harry quipped. He glanced restlessly out the window. Time was running out faster than he could imagine. He could feel the press of it against him. He sighed before giving his last argument. " _Silence in the face of evil is itself evil: God will not hold us guiltless—"_

" _Not to speak is to speak,"_ Hermione picked up, speaking the quotation with him. " _Not to act is to act_."

"We can't do nothing," Harry whispered as their voices trickled off, leaving the words hanging in the air like the last note of a broken harp. "We didn't before, and we can't now. Someone has to do something, and if no one else will, then it has to be us."

"No, Harry," Hermione disagreed. Her eyes sparkled wetly in the faint light of the hut. "It has to be you. It has always been you. Something about you is just _vital_ to—oh, to everything! It's like—"

"Like I was born to save the world? Best not go 'bout spreading that, Miss Granger, or people might think I'm some kind of savior or something."

"You're impossible, Harry Potter," she returned with a rueful shake of her head. "I don't know why I put up with you sometimes."

"Lingering fear of trolls," Harry declared, startling a disbelieving laugh from the witch. "Now, I really do need to see a man about a dementor—maybe a few dozen. We good?"

"Oh, _Harry_ ," Hermione choked out before she lunged at him like she had back at the end of their first year when they both knew that he was going to confront a servant of the Dark Lord. The hug still startled him. "Do what you need to, and we'll figure this out when you get back. Remember: you are a great wizard and an even better friend. _Be careful_."

"Stay safe," he commanded, instead of making promises he knew he couldn't keep. Then he darted out into the darkness of a Scottish night. He had a mission, even if he didn't have a plan. Regardless of what this meant in the greater scheme of things, he could go forward knowing that leaving the past behind was the right thing to do.

He needed no more of an absolute than that.

-= LP =-

An Ending

-= LP =-


	25. Payoff of Faith

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

 **Warnings:** This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers.

 **Summary (** _ **Payoff of Faith**_ **):** The more things change, the more they stay the same. But Harry decided to do things a little differently when he confronted Lupin about leaving after the debacle that revealed the truth of Sirius' situation.

 **Song Recommendation(s):** "Immortals" by Fall Out Boy

 **Author's Note with Competition Information** :  
 **House** : Hufflepuff  
 **Category** : Drabble  
 **Prompts** : "Immortals" by Fall Out Boy [Song Prompt]  
 **Word Count** : 858 (Story); 878 (Story & Epigraph)

-= LP =-

Payoff of Faith

-= LP =-

"They say we are what we are, but we don't have to be." – Fall Out Boy _, Immortals_

-= LP =-

"Don't leave," Harry said. Lupin dropped a stack of papers into his suitcase before quickly crossing to the door and closing it. Then he sighed before beginning to speak.

"You have to understand that things are not always as simple as we wish them to be. Professor Dumbledore barely managed to convince the Minister that I was trying to save your lives. I think it was the loss of the Order of Merlin that made Severus _accidentally_ let my status slip at breakfast. By this time tomorrow the school will be inundated with owls demanding my resignation, rightfully so. I could have bitten any of you."

"Yeah, so? You're still the best Defense against the Dark Arts professor I've had, and a lot of the older students agree. You can't just run away, not because of this."

"Harry," Lupin whispered, sounding choked. Restless, he carried on emptying his drawers. Harry knew that he was running out of time to make him stay, but for the life of him he couldn't think of anything that would succeed. He had talked a big talk last night about needing to do _something_ , but now that he had another chance at it, he was fumbling like Dudley trying to count. Lupin finally took the initiative on his own. "If I am proud of anything I've done, this year or before, it's how much you've learned. The headmaster tells me that you saved a lot of lives last night. Tell me about your patronus?"

"If you'll stay, I will," Harry attempted. Lupin looked at him with more gold in his eyes than normal. His face was otherwise impassive, calm and reassuring as ever, but the gold in his eyes seemed to smolder to Harry. He rushed on, unwilling to lose this tiny opening. "Please stay. I need a professor willing to actually do something. I need an adult who can give a damn, because we both know that the thing with Sirius isn't going to be quickly resolved. I need someone who knew my parents before they were war heroes. Please stay, sir. I need _you_."

"Did you know that your patronus changed?" Lupin asked as he leaned against the corner of his desk. He folded his hands over his stomach. And still his eyes were watching Harry's face, as if waiting for a specific reaction. "I realize that I never discussed that with you, that there was a lot that we didn't cover. If we had, maybe it would have been easier for you to learn it. Charms, particularly abjurations, were a specialty of your mother's, and I should have realized—"

"Professor?" Harry asked when it seemed like Lupin wasn't going to say anything more. The man shook himself, like a wet dog.

"This entire year, whenever I looked at you, I saw James—his laughter, his stubbornness, his recklessness on a broom. When you produced a stag patronus to chase down Malfoy, I thought for sure that I had everything figured out, you know. He was always a stag when he transformed, proud and majestic. That's why we called him _Prongs_."

"But last night, my patronus _wasn't_ a stag…"

"No, Harry, it wasn't," Lupin agreed. He glanced at his folded hands before raising his gaze once more. "But a doe is just as important, you know. Your mother's patronus was always a doe, which fit her in so many ways: gentleness, unconditional love, and protective vigilance. Your father was my best friend, sure, but Lily was there for me when no one else was, when I needed her the most."

"But you're still leaving, aren't you?" Fury raced through Harry like hellfire. Then sorrow rushed behind it, quenching the flames like a tsunami. Harry felt his shoulders slump in defeat as his head dropped towards the floor, already blurring from the tears prickling at his eyes. It was ridiculous to think someone would want to stay if they had any choice.

"Dumbledore believed it to be for the best that I discontinue my tenure, yes," Lupin agreed. Harry didn't look up before nodding. "Yet when he requested that I consider leaving the country again, I found myself disinclined to concur with his advice. Last time I left on his advice, I returned to discover an unpalatable situation had arose in my absence. I dare say that I greatly disappointed a very dear friend and I loathe the idea of doing so again."

Harry slowly raised his gaze to meet Lupin's, unable to process what he was hearing. The man spread his hands as if to say that there wasn't really anything to be done. Then Lupin spread his arms further, clearly offering a hug. Not thinking about it, Harry darted into his arms and squeezed the ex-professor the same way Hermione always hugged. When Lupin's arms wrapped around him, Harry buried his face in the worn cardigan and breathed deep of the perpetual scent of cocoa.

He didn't know if the sound he made was a laugh or a sob, but it didn't seem to matter to Lupin, who only held on tighter. Things were finally starting to look up.


	26. Ave

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

 **Warnings:** This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers. This particular piece includes references to past child abuse and anxiety. The anxiety is not a panic attack. Please utilize understanding of personal sensitivities before and while reading.

 **Author's Note:** It should be obvious, but this scene takes place in somewhen post- _Deathly Hallows_ but ignores everything in the Epilogue and suggested by JKR in various interviews and tweets. It may also seem weird to anyone without anxiety, but yeah, sometimes the behaviors we fall into because of it aren't what are best for us and redirecting the restlessness really does help, even if we can't do it ourselves. As a final note, _avēre_ is Latin for "to be well". Conjugated the way it is in the title has a few meanings, one of which is a command to "be well".

 **Song Recommendation** : "Ave Maria" by Beyonce

 **Houses Competition Information:**  
 **House:** Hufflepuff  
 **Category:** Drabble  
 **Prompt:** Harry Potter/Luna Lovegood (Pairing)  
 **Word Count:** 471 (Story Only); n/a (Story  & Epigraph)

-= LP =-  
Ave  
-= LP =-

Luna watched as Harry moved restlessly around their kitchen. She knew that he took to cleaning things when his anxiety was playing up. It was a holdover from his childhood and the exacting standards of his aunt. Unfortunately, she also knew that if she left him to this, he would work himself into even more of a state than he was in currently. She had learned the hard way that Harry may do this because of anxiety, but it did very little to soothe him. It was just a habit, a very telling one.

Fortunately, time had also taught her how to _actually_ help him.

On silent feet, she moved into the room to slide between Harry and the already-clean counter he was scrubbing. This close, the smell of lemon was sharp and undeniable, a cruel reminder of _that woman_. Luna wasn't the type to feel anger towards deeds done in the past, but for Petunia Dursley, she would probably never feel anything else—not when she could see the scars of those deeds in her Harry.

For a moment, they were both completely still. Harry's body was practically humming with the tension running through it. No doubt his memory was telling him to expect a punishment of some sort. Luna waited for him to relax, for his awareness to come back from the past where pain was the expectation. When he tilted forward, his weight on his hands which still rested on the counter behind her, she knew that he was back in the moment.

"My hair needs brushed," she recited softly, barely more than a whisper in his ear. His forehead bumped her shoulder as the rest of him shuddered. She ran her fingers down his side, like petting a cat. It would have tickled on anyone else, but Harry only relaxed against her more, leaning into the stroke with a slowly released breath. "Will you take care of that for me?"

"Yes, _please_ ," Harry replied. He lingered a moment more before taking a deep breath and moving to rinse out his brush. She kept watch as he did so, knowing he would find comfort in it. He was methodical in removing any trace of the cleaner from the brush and his hands. When he came back to her, the lemon smell had been replaced by the neutral scent of castile.

Luna gathered his hands in hers to led him from the kitchen to the living room. Without another word, Harry settled into the armchair with Luna on the ottoman before it. Soon both of them were sinking into the steady rhythm of brushstrokes through her waist length hair. The simple action soothed the tension rather than wound it tighter. Through repetitive motion, the rest of the world fell away, leaving just the two of them, _safe_ and _well_.

-= LP =-  
The End  
-= LP =-


End file.
